My Father’s Hats - by Mark Irwin - Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, sometimes fumbling the soft crowns and imagine I was in a forest, wind hymning through pines, where the musky scent of rain clinging to damp earth was his scent I loved, lingering on bands, leather, and on the inner silk crowns where I would smell his hair and almost think I was being held, or climbing a tree, touching the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent was that of clove in the godsome…
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fathers, sons, and ghosts
January 25th, 2008 — clove, cologne, hair, hats, musings, musk, oakmoss, poems, woods from Heather @ memory & desire
fathers, sons, and ghosts
January 24th, 2008 — , Perfume, Poetry, clove, cologne, hair, hats, musings, musk, oakmoss, poems, woods from Heather @ memory & desire
My Father’s Hats - by Mark Irwin - Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, sometimes fumbling the soft crowns and imagine I was in a forest, wind hymning through pines, whe…
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January 4th, 2008 — Carnation, city, clove, musings, pepper, poems, winter from Heather @ memory & desire
Human Beauty - by Albert Goldbarth - If you write a poem about love … the love is a bird, the poem is an origami bird. If you write a poem about death … the death is a terrible fire, the poem is an offering of paper cutout flames you feed to the fire. We can see, in these, the space between our gestures and the power they address —an insufficiency. And yet a kind of beauty, a distinctly human beauty. When a winter storm from out of nowhere hit New York one night in 1892, the crew at a…
Related Storesbeauty in the city
January 4th, 2008 — , Carnation, Perfume, Poetry, city, clove, musings, pepper, poems, winter from Heather @ memory & desire
Human Beauty - by Albert Goldbarth - If you write a poem about love … the love is a bird, the poem is an origami bird. If you write a poem about death … the death is a terrible fire, the poem is an offering of paper cutout flames you feed to the fi…
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November 27th, 2007 — clove, earth, grass, musings, musk, poems from Heather @ memory & desire
To Earthward - by Robert Frost - Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of—was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk? I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they’re gathered shake Dew on the knuckle. I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung. Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain…
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November 26th, 2007 — , Perfume, Poetry, clove, earth, grass, musings, musk, poems from Heather @ memory & desire
To Earthward - by Robert Frost - Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of—was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk? I had the …
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