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The daily prose
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Staircase | I and The Body
https://iandthebody.wordpress.com/2017/01/01/staircase
I and The Body. January 1, 2017. January 1, 2017. What we needed was just to go back, climbing the staircase into the room where it had all happened by a word. There were twenty steps with a rope ,many hands have worn dark in ages in the de ja vu many others had met. At bottom of the stair case we stand, looking up at the banister and foyer, to closed room where we lost word. Rope is darker by descending hands from upstairs room with lost words. We look up , walk away, a word lost. Enter your comment here.
I and The Body | The daily prose | Page 2
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I and The Body. March 6, 2017. I look at the possibility seminally present in the current decay and body to dissolve like electric light-bulb that disappears in the bright sunlight as the day breaks. My body’s light shall dissolve in moments into the general daylight of a sunny day and as the day burns I shall slowly dissolve with the pain of light’s merger into light. Poetry disguised as prose. Walking sleeping dreaming thoughts. March 3, 2017. March 3, 2017. Poetry disguised as prose. March 1, 2017.
Fake | I and The Body
https://iandthebody.wordpress.com/2017/01/16/fake
I and The Body. January 16, 2017. Everything is such a fake here including all things I have said and what I may say at the end. I do not know what to say next. I am just faking it for the real as the original vanishes in the sky. It is such fake overarching sky ,fake like your Gucci handbag. It is a fake sky, yours and mine .We fake our emotions under it. Our words are fake as our sky, not knowing what to say next. Poetry disguised as prose. Walking sleeping dreaming thoughts. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.
I and the body | I and The Body
https://iandthebody.wordpress.com/2017/01/08/i-and-the-body
I and The Body. I and the body. January 8, 2017. January 8, 2017. I map my body to common earth, onto a standing tree in sky-scape so we decay jointly to a fine dust. Our particles, in rows of skylight, swim together like first tadpoles. Together we swim as dust atoms and we look up to the blinding sky where a tree holds spring flowers to decay as powders of the earth. Our joint dreams walk the earth with stone ears and unthinking eyes that hold our dust swimming , like our tadpoles when we began.
About | I and The Body
https://iandthebody.wordpress.com/about
I and The Body. Making poetry of silence. I and the body, by chance we come together. You know , I distance myself from the body. All the while I and body are coaxing poetry. To happen in parks, on roads, at a bus stop. Between old men from each other’s silence. We people canvas with images and poetry. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out.
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templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com
2016-11-16-3735-01 – A photographer's diary
https://templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com/2016/11/24/kuldhara/2016-11-16-3735-01
A photographer's diary. Notes towards making of photo-images. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment.
Mapping our space – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/mapping-our-space
December 19, 2016. December 19, 2016. A fine warm line goes forward, in a single track and then loops and turns us toward the sky as if the earth were sky with our footprints missing or erased willfully by winds. We first map country homes with electric poles and the abandoned substations with bat-homes. We then enter casuarina trees in their tall homes. Beyond them is a rise of the sea with no map, only a dull ocean sound for our cartography. Canada is immigrant’s map of a maple leaf. A low hanging fruit.
The steadfast canine – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/the-steadfast-canine
December 13, 2016. The sun is up above a winter breeze , in gray clouds. A silky brown dog is tugging at a master’s leash ,generally curious about wayside grass. In Melbourne the sun rose five hours ago in WhatsApp . The sun might have got into the metro, holding gleaming handrails. Here, in my mornings I have poetry words stuck from desultory readings in the cyber wastes. Straggler words do make a poem or two and bring up a gleaming image from the bottom of night. A low hanging fruit. You are commenting...
Good bones – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2017/01/01/good-bones
January 1, 2017. January 1, 2017. The loved one’s bones cannot be all that good when in the clay-pot. The clay-pot cannot be all that good if hurled in mid-waters, with a promise not to turn back. The promise cannot be all that good if the boat has turned back from eddy. The eddy cannot be all that good if it closes too. You can make it beautiful. Referring to Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones. 8221; that went viral recently). Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).
January 2017 – Indian Metaphor
https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2017/01
Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. Then, at the dead of the night. A river’s waters rose , swelled. And spilled over to the village. The mountains then looked on. As a flying chariot-in-flames. Had sheared the edges smooth.
Meaning – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/29/meaning
December 29, 2016. December 29, 2016. In the bus the tiny girl suggested many levels, layers of meaning filtering into a cozy bus from the information spread about in the bus around the driver seeing in the rear view mirror and passers-by who vaguely whizzed past him. It was for me to make meaning synchronizing my plane of existence with hers. At another level a fuzzy sun set on the still lake as if the collected lake had to speak for the day without orange sun blazing in other side. Fog in the throat.
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
Years « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/12/years
Where fragments are wholes. See the moon hung on a branch of tree. It is sad moon-face,a pie-face in cloud. It used to jump each time a wave came. You are reading in years, with big holes. Eaten in by silver worms, that eat them. So nice and to such a round perfection. The years have eaten bits of your moon. This entry was posted in poems. Wind in the pass →. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public).
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
When you are outside saying it « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/when-you-are-outside-saying-it
Where fragments are wholes. When you are outside saying it. Who says this with your mouth. That did not know this before? When you are outside saying it,. You go quiet puzzling about it. Your mouth never knew words. Only sounds like mouth steam. Escaped when you opened it,. Touching different, each time. On reading Rumi’s poem “ who says words with my mouth. This entry was posted in poems. And tagged when you are outside saying it. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. I and the body.
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
Sleep « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/12/sleep
Where fragments are wholes. Many times, sleep is heavy thing. Lying flat at the bottom of a night. The muddy brown thing crawling. With several sleazy sleep creatures. At times it floats away like clouds. Around airplane, scraps of songs,. With melody of eternal memories. This entry was posted in poems. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out.
Mom’s watch – Indian Metaphor
https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2016/12/11/moms-watch
Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. She was our mom , big mom. In green, fond of wrist watch. She gives us mixers to make. Our truth and hers palatable,. Keeps ticking watch with her. Let watch be buried as truth.
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I And Tech | Just some articles about technology and us
Just some articles about technology and us. Customize your laptop for less that $15. February 9, 2012. Here are some examples :. Pacman Sticker ($8.95). Los Angeles Sticker ($8.99). Most of the stickers were designed for Macbooks, but they also fit on any other computer 🙂. I just bought mine, I’ll post a picture when I receive it! Start shopping now HERE. And give your laptop a unique look! Outdated before we have time to purchase it. February 6, 2012. January 26, 2012. My conclusion is that students th...
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Intentional Unrealities
Praise for Stuff of Legends. Ian D T. Gibson. Vancouver Island, Canada. Author of Stuff of Legends, a funny fantasy about heroism and celebrity. Does your favourite dragon slayer have an agent? View my complete profile. There was an error in this gadget. Saturday, December 25, 2010. Wishing everyone all the best over holidays general and specific - Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and an Enjoyable Lengthening of Days. May you be accompanied through the winter by wonderful books. Ian D T. Gibson. As a tan...
I and The Body | The daily prose
I and The Body. I and The Body. A poet's diary. Nisheedhi's Nature Poetry. The Language of Thought. January 16, 2017. Poetry disguised as prose. Walking sleeping dreaming thoughts. Everything is such a fake here including all things I have said and what I may say at the end. I do not know what to say next. I am just faking it for the real as the original vanishes in the sky. It is such fake overarching sky ,fake like your Gucci handbag. January 12, 2017. Poetry disguised as prose. January 10, 2017. Flesh...
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Wednesday, November 5, 2014. Ö,Erdöben, The Wild Within. I have an exhibition coming up! This one has been many months in the making and many, many more in the mind! Join me for a drink on Saturday November 29 at Manyung Gallery, Mount Eliza. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph. D. Women Who Run With the Wolves. This body of work is the amalgamation of inspiration drawn from the written work of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, personal experience and the resilience of many female creatures of the animal kingdom. Earlier t...
KIRRILY ANDERSON
FINE ART and ILLUSTRATION. LAS PIEDRAS DEL MAR. Taking inspiration from various coastlines around the world, this body of work combines the beauty of nature with the beauty of the female expression. Showing at Manyung Gallery Sorrento January 14 - 25 2017. 420 x 297 mm. Created for the group exhibtion 'Awake' at Off the Kerb Gallery in Collingwood. Selected illustrations, 2015 - 2017. INK ON PAPER, OCT 2015. INK ON PAPER, AUGUST 2015. Limited edition of ten digital prints on On Stone. Bees are some of th...
