In the oldest quarter of the woods,where daylight arrives already dying,the trees stand gaunt and funereal,their bark split openlike the walls of abandoned crypts. From these woundsthe fungus enters. Not violently—never violently. It arrives the way sorrow arrives:gradually,patiently,through the smallest fractures. White tendrils creep beneath the skin of the forest,threading through root and marrowwood,until every … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Where the Fungus Keeps Vigil” – Colonizing Decay, v.5
Revisionist Poetry – “The Catechism of Rot” – Colonizing Decay, v.4
Beneath the black cathedral of the pines,where moonlight curdles in stagnant pools,the forest keeps its terrible liturgy. There, among the roots swollen like drowned fingers,fungus wakes in pallid colonies,soft as grave-milk,quiet as things that feed unseen. It climbs the trees with monk-like patience,pressing its white mouthsinto wounded bark,drinking the slow memory of the wood. Nothing … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The Catechism of Rot” – Colonizing Decay, v.4
Revisionist Poetry – “The Forest’s Quiet Conquest” – Colonizing Decay, v.3
Under the veil of leaves,the forest keeps its oldest pulse:not silence, but labor. Fungal life ascends the trunkin pale, deliberate script,curling over bark like a secretthe tree can no longer hold alone.It enters every fault and fracturewith the patience of rainand the intimacy of breath. Nothing here is merely ending.The fallen branch becomes a threshold;the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The Forest’s Quiet Conquest” – Colonizing Decay, v.3
Revisionist Poetry – “Mycelial Dominion” – Colonizing Decay, v.2
Beneath the canopy’s green hush,a secret country labours in the dark.What seems still is only waiting;what seems dead is already opening,thread by thread beneath the bark. Fungus arrives without alarm,a patient grammar written in white filaments,finding its way through splinter, seam, and wound,speaking softly to the wooduntil the wood begins to answer. Here, the forest … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Mycelial Dominion” – Colonizing Decay, v.2
Revisionist Poetry – “Sepulchre of Winter Light” – Hints of Sunset, v.4
The sun dies beautifully. It sinks behind the black-veined treeslike a lantern lowered into deep water,casting bruised sepia upon the snowless earth—a final sacrament before the long extinguishing. Above us,clouds mass like ruined kingdoms. The cold arrives with intelligence.It creeps beneath doors,whispers along the eaves,lays thin silver fingers upon the glass. Soon the storm descends. … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Sepulchre of Winter Light” – Hints of Sunset, v.4
Revisionist Poetry – “Before the Snow Claims Evening” – Hints of Sunset, v.3
The sunset does not vanish all at once. It retreats slowly,like warmth leaving old hands. Gold thins to rust.Rust deepens to wine-dark shadow.Clouds drift over the skylike heavy cathedral cloth. The coming storm announces itself in fragments:the ache in the wind,the nervous sway of branches,the sudden absence of birds. Snow is already imaginedbefore it falls. … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Before the Snow Claims Evening” – Hints of Sunset, v.3
Revisionist Poetry – “Ember Hour” – Hints of Sunset, v.2
The sun hangs low—a coal bruised redagainst the throat of evening,bleeding sepia through the bones of trees. One final flarebefore the west closes over it. Cold gathers early.Along the roads,the wind rehearses its sharp grammar,lifting loose snowlike pale ash from a dying fire. Somewhere beyond the hills,the storm is assembling itself—vast,deliberate,buttoning the sky with iron … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Ember Hour” – Hints of Sunset, v.2
Revisionist Poetry – “The Attic of October” – Inherited Halloweens, v.4
Inheriting the Halloween relics,we ascend into the dustened loftwhere old boxes breathe their mildew hymnsand every lid seems sealed with midnight. Within them lie the legacies of October:faded masks with mouths fixed in dread,papier-mâché phantoms gone yellow with age,skeletal faces grinning through their decayas if death itself had learned to decorate. They wait there like … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The Attic of October” – Inherited Halloweens, v.4
T.A.E.’s Book Review – A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses is one of the most enduringly graceful accomplishments in children’s poetry, but its reputation as a nursery classic can obscure how artfully strange, psychologically nuanced, and formally sophisticated it is. Published in 1885, the collection presents itself as a sequence of simple poems drawn from the imaginative … Continue reading T.A.E.’s Book Review – A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson
Revisionist Poetry – “The House Remembers Halloween” – Inherited Halloweens, v.3
Every year the attic gives backits inheritance of masks and skeletons,its cracked lanterns, its grinning dead,packed away like captured weather. You can still feel them breathingunder the dust and folded paper:those papier-mâché phantoms,those goblins with their painted shock,those jack-o’-lantern facesfrozen in the act of becoming night. They once stood at the edge of the streetunder … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The House Remembers Halloween” – Inherited Halloweens, v.3
The New Renaissance Mindset 