In late harvest light, a wooden crate tips—a river of nobbled gourds pooling on straw:squat globes, long-necked lanterns, sun-browned mapsmottled with ochre, chartreuse, and bruise. Each one a small, knotted country — scoredby sun and rain, ribbed with winter’s memory,its pockmarks and scars the kind of languagethat names droughts and late frosts without a shout. … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Autumn’s Fruit, v.2
Revisionist Poetry – Art is Everywhere, v.3
In the cluttered hush of the studiothe inventory of things begins to list itself:a cracked crate, a sagging shelf, a rolled canvasbreathing like folded skin in the corner. A canvas draped over a chair, a clay hand in a jar,colours spattered down the floorboards like small suns.Each piece carries the humidity of a night—the tremor … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Art is Everywhere, v.3
Revisionist Poetry. – Art is Everywhere, v.2
In the cluttered hush of my studioa sheet of canvas breathes like folded skin.Turpentine fogs the window; a plaster handleans against a crate stamped LAST SUMMER. One painting is a bruise of ultramarine—another, a grin of ochre stuck on burlap.I price them in small currencies: time, regret, glue.Sell one and the throat hollows; keep all … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry. – Art is Everywhere, v.2
The Adaptable Educator’s Book Review – Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (with a bonus at the end: Cyrano’s “A Nose…” monologue)
Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac is at once a theatrical confection and a sharply worked tragedy of language. Written for the theatre — and written to be heard — the play glories in the sound of words: the quick thrusts of wit, the rolled cadence of heroic verse, the extravagant pyrotechnics of rhetoric. Yet beneath … Continue reading The Adaptable Educator’s Book Review – Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (with a bonus at the end: Cyrano’s “A Nose…” monologue)
Revisionist Poetry – Two of Us (a.k.a. Angered Conversants, v.3)
We are the things the sea forgot —salt-sanded, hollow where a heart once ran.They come with voices like fast knives,bragging the bright heat of being heard. We remember other storms: slow presses,the river’s grammar of rubbing and giving.Barnacles hang like old punctuation;sun has written its absent names along our ribs. You pound the air with … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Two of Us (a.k.a. Angered Conversants, v.3)
Revisionist Poetry – Angered Conversants, v.2
Wind knifes the shore and keeps its rude counsel;two salt-bleached lengths lie like old bones—one half-buried, the other split and cuppedas if to hold what the tide forgot. They bear the maps of storms: dark rings, sun-bleached grain,a barnacled thumb where some net once caught.Around them voices spool — hot, bright, and short —the human … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Angered Conversants, v.2
Revisionist Poetry – Almost Invisible, v.2
Notice the hare— a seam in the field:fur threaded from river silt to sky-smoke,a mottled map that answers no one. It folds into the green, spine a taut wire,breath stitched thin along a blade of grass.Eyes half-open like coins tilted to light,a small percussion beating behind the ribs. Ears pivot—radar for footstep and wing-shadow—listening to … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Almost Invisible, v.2
Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v7. (scratchy jukebox edition – Tom Waits style)
i don’t know love by the book —i know it by the smell of your coat after rain,by the neon bruise that hums outside our window,by a coffee cup that rings like a bell when you set it down. i love a smile that’s crooked like a bad harmonica,it sneaks up on me from the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v7. (scratchy jukebox edition – Tom Waits style)
Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v6. (Sonnet)
i count the moments when your hand finds mine,small clockwork measures that unseat the dark.your smile, a ledger, balances the day;your voice, an ordered tide, refines my thought.i learn the grammar of your silences,repay them with a careful, steady ear.we argue, not to wound, but to be clearer;we fail, then practice courage like a craft.there … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v6. (Sonnet)
Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v5. (Lighter)
i’m not sure what love is,but i can list its ridiculous perks. i love a grin that sneaks up like a catand ambushes my morning coffee.i love eyes that play hide-and-seekwith the important bits of my face. i love hands that high-five and then apologizefor being so good at holding things.i love hugs that smuggle … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – LOVE, v5. (Lighter)
The New Renaissance Mindset 