Saturday, December 13, 2008

A Casting Off Of Albatri 6


For Characters, Imagined And Real



A blank page
and a breath.

All possibility,
this.

I will hold you dear
until death.

You are life,
you are life,
as is.

18 comments:

Dave King said...

This is the third new (to me), brilliant blog I have discovered today. Must be nearly Christmas!

Whirlochre said...

Hi Dave

Hope it continues to strike you thus on any future visits.

For myself, I've taken to whacking myself over the head with a breadboard to recreate the Discovery Of Brilliance effect. It's a little hit-and-miss though — sometimes I can't remember my Blogger password, and last Tuesday, I got into trouble at the bank for signing all my cheques Jacques Clouseau.

Kiersten said...

I KNEW you weren't a former actor or former spy (that was Natalie's guess). But I thought Jacques was dead?

Anywho, Dave, you're exactly right, Whirl is brilliant.

And this poem--seriously, you get me lulled into a false security with all the absurdity and funniness, and then something like this comes out of the blue.

Beautiful, really.

Whirlochre said...

Is the world ready yet for gallic zombie deep sea divers?

Or am I so behind the times that I'm the only person left on earth who isn't tucking into croissants and enjoying the fizzle of plankton as it bubbles between rubber and decaying flesh?

candicekennington said...

Very visual, the poem and the dead Irish bottom feeder.

Whirlochre said...

Isn't that what's written on Oscar Wilde's tombstone?

candicekennington said...

I'm still laughing!!! I feel a lot like I did after reading The Importance of Being Earnest the first time (and many times since). Although, maybe I shouldn't admit that to you.

JaneyV said...

Whirl I'm struggling for words here because, well … it was lovely. Simple and elegant. Really really lovely.

Then I had a coughing fit (I think I'm coming down with your horrible flu - my head feels like it's in a vice) when I read that Oscar WIlde is a dead Irish Bottom feeder. That quip was worthy of the man himself.

What I can't figure out is where Irish bottom feeder came from - weren't you talking about Jacques Cousteau? My head's getting thicker by the second.

Whirlochre said...

If only I had been talking about Jacques Cousteau...

sylvia said...

I love this!

Whirlochre said...

Hurrah!

Seriously — Christmas & all that, whew. My family are buggers for popping their clogs over the festive season and I've just, this morning, had another near miss.

So, yeah. Big love all round, I say.

Mom In Scrubs said...

Is that Inspektor Clouseau? The non-zombie-deep-sea-diver?

It's late and my brain's a little fuzzed over. But I like the poem.

Whirlochre said...

Hey — I get fuzzed over even at peak time these days.

Note to self: must start drinking a pint of fish oil a day.

Robin S. said...

I love this, Whirl. Nice to see another side of you.

Whirlochre said...

I'm a veritable polyhedron of emotions.

writtenwyrdd said...

What does a polyhedron of emotions look like?

Nice poetry, Whirlio.

Whirlochre said...

Not sure, but I've heard that if you sit on one, it squeaks.

writtenwyrdd said...

Hey, if you sit on ME I squeak, too. But I am certain of one thing and that's that I have fewer pointy 'corners' than the polyhedron in question.