reposted for David Keys, 24th April 1925 – 12th September 2014

The uncaring stars bring cool relief,

To the strange, blue hills of our childhood’s sleep.

When forgetful snow wraps the summer’s grief,

And ice closes over the rustling streams,

Then we find the faint trail and go numbly back

To our fire to wait where our parents once sat.

The rivers flow sluggish and quieten the mill,

When winter extinguishes summer’s spark.

In the deepest earth the creatures lie still

Waiting to burst into spring from the dark.

And all our hurts are just seeds as to flowers,

Waiting to bloom into brighter hours.

While every snow blankets the fragile stem

Until life finds its way to the sun again.


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The sea

I made one thousand sandcastles before noon
Then kicked them all down and watched the sea take them

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rain cocoon

living in this warm rain cocoon

I extend a hand to check the ice wind

curl up again, waiting for my body to reform

with all the little hail cuts pushing out stems of light

to wrap me in a stronger skin

half armour and half butterfly wing

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A book

I am the leaves of a book
A forest of unspoken words
I am opened to a page of lavish pictures
I am folded to an unreadable verse
I am turned to a stark blank page
Snapped shut


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Oh when will I be pure again?
Untangled from the fume of dousing
Free to read the full marvel of the moon again
Unleashed from my double-guessing
My shallow expectations of certainty.
When will I lie close to the earth and see the tiny universe unfurling?
An ant struggling with a seed.
The little, unnamed creatures, so busy and so free. So far above me.


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when I’m sleeping

‘And long ago she said – ‘I must be leaving,
Ah but keep my body here to lie upon
You can move it up and down and when I’m sleeping
Run some wire through that Rose and wind the Swan.’
So daily I renew my idle duty
I touch her here and there – I know my place
I kiss her open mouth and praise her beauty
and people call me traitor to my face.’

- Leonard Cohen

Martha Wainwright sings The Traitor:

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Doubt fingers a slow nocturne on my spine

As I am acclimatised to this higher plane

Falling folded in the shadows I wander

Down the collapsing stair

To the half-remembered spaces of my dreams

Ascending, I descend

Falling upward, letting go slowly

filled by one thousand drifting stars


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open your eyes


Did you know you could magic creatures into your world with paper and pigment? They move from your heart, to your hand, and into the world. As simple as that. Do you think you could magic your real self into the world? Your hidden self? Just by shutting your eyes, willing it to be. Open eyes. There you are.

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awkward small talk

darcy family in good health

This made me laugh: ‘Small talk is fairly fast. Someone says something like, “John really did a great job on the party this year. Have you been to this event in the past?” This should be followed up with a quick response (such as “Yes I have” or “No, it’s my first time.”) But introverts like to chew on their words before saying them aloud. They’ll think about that question a bit, and other things will pop into their mind, like “I wonder how they know John,” or even “Why would they care if I’ve been to other parties?” Before they answer, they’ll mull over different thoughts. This silence, although very short, can unnerve people if you’re not used to it.’ 

That tiny pause between the question and the answer. Little silences can get filled with so much self-doubt and confusion on both sides. I suppose the assumption is that silence suggests that something has gone wrong, or that one of the speakers is avoiding speaking the truth. Like ‘I don’t really want to talk to you at all,’ which is actually quite unlikely. My music teacher used to say that the space between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves. The silence is an integral part of the music. More often we are rushing to fill the emptiness. It’s amazing how many secrets are spoken just to fill an awkward silence.   

quote from:


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ibiza eye

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