Pete22's profile on tailcast

by Pete22

(for ZenBen) It seems that we can never move straight or true. The distance between I and you destined always to be travelled concentrically. It appears that I digress moving at 90 degrees from my heart's desire and your fragility. If light must snake and oscillate in its eternal trajectory, why should we expect to travel differently? You and I are writ in letters: GATC They survive by twinning, traversing fecund spaces pregnant with possibility. Our lives together are writ the same. The direct path always and ever curved. And that last departure? Just me returning back to you, straight and true the only way I knew. read more

by Pete22

It is a poor man whose only wealth is money. Anon read more

by Pete22

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; There is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but Nature more. Lord Byron read more

by Pete22

Better justice without religion than the tyranny of a devout ruler Muhammad read more

by Pete22

The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold, When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flying Defying the church bells And every evil iron Siren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dying And not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat under Thunder and rain with you, And grateful too For sunlight on the garden. Louis Macneice read more

by Pete22

Amuse Bouche Wind-crimsoned infant tomatoes swaddling in serrano ham A ball bag of cuckolded pork crackling Starters Slightly Soup Drowned and lightly bespectacled mice on a futon of insouciant spinach Main Course Uber-chastised leg of chicken corralled in a pebble dashing of scared squid inked couscous Eternally ephemeral lamb befriended by a nursery of sweet potatoes and served with a gang bang of greens Dessert Pandemic strength Beriberi served with an orgy of bovine breast massaged crème fraîche Accidental (some say overly confident) pomme de terre in a thrice topsy turvy tarte tatin Wine "Vintage Vin Rogue" - an orchestral red berried Rioja with a suggestion of Cri de Couer and overtones of medieval bondage "I hate the white man" - a passive aggressive Bolivian Chardonnay felched by a thousand disenfranchised feet and extorted into sherry casks before being stored on a hill overlooking a disused nunnery Serving suggestions: to be served to a gaggle of gourmand guests read more

by Pete22

I have learned that my happiness has a sad face, so sad that for years I took it for my unhappiness and drove it away. Iris Murdoch read more

by Pete22

sunset by Pete22

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by Pete22

Only a fool tests the depth of the water with both feet. African proverb read more

by Pete22

My father passed with his penny letters Through closes opening and shutting like legends When barbarous with gulls Hamnavoe's morning broke On the salt and tar steps. Herring boats, Puffing red sails, the tillers Of cold horizons, leaned Down the gull-gaunt tide And threw dark nets on sudden silver harvests. A stallion at the sweet fountain Dredged Water, and touched Fire from steel-kissed cobbles. Hard on noon four bearded merchants Past the pipe-spitting pier-head strolled, Holy with greed, chanting Their slow grave jargon. A tinker keened like a tartan gull At cuithe-hung doors. A crofter lass Trudged through the lavish dung In a dream of cornstalks and milk. In "The Artie Whaler" three blue elbows fell, Regular as waves, from beards spumy with porter, Till the amber day ebbed out To its black dregs. The boats drove furrows homeward, like ploughmen In blizzards of gulls. Gaelic fisher girls Flashed knife and dirge Over drifts of herring, And boys with penny wands lured gleams From the tangled veins of the flood. Houses went blind Up one steep close, for a Grief by the shrouded nets. The kirk, in a gale of psalms, went heaving through A tumult of roofs, freighted for… read more