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Chianti | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2012/09/06/chianti
September 6, 2012. I haven’t posted in a while, so here’s a poem I wrote a few years ago, imagining one of many potential futures. I promise, as always, to write soon. I’m sipping Chianti. In some corner seat. In the Florentine heat. Of July. I am thirty,. In a flat so dirty. The ceiling’s got hair. I had ten books to my name. Bestsellers. Such fame. The kind that climbs,. Then slows then tapers,. Is something I can stand:. It’s not like it was planned. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here.
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About | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/about
I am Scott, and I sometimes wonder why pubs never serve Dr Pepper. I also write poems, and the occasional short story. I’ve been known to write a song or two. 2 thoughts on “ About. December 20, 2010 at 12:04 am. Now do no further thinking, because that’s where my imagination ran out. I will be writing sonnets. That I have written, and some that I have read. But I’ll be doing it in space! December 20, 2010 at 12:08 am. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).
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Angel | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2011/03/10/angel
March 10, 2011. A dimpled chin (my family fight. Over who gave it to me:. Genetics tells me it’s patrilineal but I. Remember my nan smiling, proclaiming. That a fairy kissed me, and that is truth. Of an older kind) reminds me of. Another story: in the womb. An angel reads the Torah to you. But you are made to forget. Later. You recall those words, they. Resonate, your heart beats in time,. You are attuned to majesty. And we are supposed to see, in. That moment of last being able. As love is ineffaceable.
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the death of universes | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2011/07/26/the-death-of-universes
The death of universes. July 26, 2011. It is our nature, it is the reason. We could stand up on the savannah and. Dream the smell of antelope coarsely. Browning on the fire. it is something. We all experience: a hope is offered,. Maybe at first only a small. One but from that hope spring. Infinite other hopes and soon. A whole chain of events is forming,. Swelling into a newborn universe. Of possibility – i will get that job, buy. That house by the canal i always had my. Eye on, play piano by the fire one.
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An old one | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2011/02/25/an-old-one
February 25, 2011. One from the archives. This’d be five years old or so:. It’s always hard to bear, this thing. Each year it sheds its children, till the Spring. Awakens in its deadened arms. Freshness, newness what vibrancy warms. Its mourning core none knows. And every year, the Tree grows. That’s the most you’re going to get out of me until my Modern Literary Theory essay is finished. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:.
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Two years later… | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2011/03/14/103
Two years later…. March 14, 2011. A hilariously unsubtle poem for you, now that Spring is making itself felt. It is what it is. Earth’s climate clenches. Warm sap seeps beneath. The brittle brush and cold store of winter. Snow’s a pleasant memory: now we are. Bogged and mired in fireless sun. Unclogged drains. And doggish rains run rivers in the streets. When will Earth erupt in flowered climax? Full-powered, Spring sprouts shoots, thrusts stamens high,. No stony barren crag nor plain unchanged. You are ...
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Beatrice Portinari | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2012/03/09/beatrice-portinari-2-2
March 9, 2012. In belated honour of International Women’s Day, here is a poem I wrote several years ago for Beatrice Portinari:. My lady, you are nothing like the girls. I once imagined in my youthful dreams. Of white-clad maidens; golden hair in curls,. A languid snake which tempts but always seems. To hide behind a chaste and holy face. O chastity, the worst of all the themes. That so constrained that pre-Enlightened race. Of poets, tramps and thieves who every day. Those hypocrites who idolize the way.
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Petrarch | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2011/02/08/petrarch
February 8, 2011. Okay, I’ve skipped a couple of poets to get here, but I need time to do Dante justice. Today’s post will deal with Petrarch, who had a lot to live up to. I mean, imagine one of Homer’s children–for argument’s sake a girl; let’s call her Lisa–writing her first poem. 8220;Daddy, I’ve written a poem”. 8220;That’s lovely, dear”. 8220;I’m over here, Dad.”. 8220;Yes yes yes. So what’s this ‘poem’ about? 8220;Darling, this is a little bit like the Odyssey, isn’t it? 8220;I HATE YOU! And not ju...
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Astyanax | Scott Yearsley
https://scottyearsley.wordpress.com/2012/03/09/astyamax
March 9, 2012. You be strong may. Let you laugh at death. Let death find you. Proud as I am proud. In you I see the mirror. Of my youth reflect. Reflect how much you. May become, better. Glory, armour shining. In the sun, the son. Of his father, a joy. To his mother’s heart. In this moment if not. Forever then ever now. In me you are. Not the future you are. My Astyanax, my not. Let the walls last that. Little bit longer, enough. For you to walk then. Run, run away from this. And when you run.
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