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My excuse for a brain is far too Christmassed as well, Alison, but I like the activity of the imagery in your piece, for instance 'churches flounder in tides of mud'. That definitely makes a hit. (ps. Damn. I knew I'd forgot something. The Greek sandals (wink)) Best Dave David Bircumshaw Leicester, England Home Page A Chide's Alphabet Painting Without Numbers www.paintstuff.20m.com/index.htm http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm ----- Original Message ----- From: "Alison Croggon" <[log in to unmask]> To: <[log in to unmask]> Sent: Tuesday, December 25, 2001 11:07 PM Subject: More poem > I've enjoyed all the poems of the past few days, and how various! > The different erotisms of Liz's and Dave's, for example. But I'm way > too post-Christmas to say anything sensible. > > I wrote a poem, to my surprise, a couple of days ago, so here it is: > > > the bees have declared an amnesty > their dances are only lyrical effusions > > and why are apricots so illiterate? > yet they diffuse their promiscuous perfumes > sliming the earth with rot > > one has always mistrusted the language of cats > and their devotion to hygiene > > so many things slide and tumble > churches flounder in tides of mud > shoes dissolve in a week > > and why do scissors keep disappearing? > if you ask nature for absolution > it senselessly posts you flowers and blood > > and the fronds uncurl to tinier fronds and so on > which seem meticulous synonyms for murder > > like a froth of hands on metallic surfaces > making and unmaking > and underneath the mindless carnivorous ocean > > > > > > -- > > > Alison Croggon > > Home page > http://www.users.bigpond.com/acroggon/ > Masthead > http://au.geocities.com/masthead_2/ >