Wordsworth haikus/photos from a trip to Grasmere

Under rapturous gaze

Grasmere transformed,

lost in a lyrical haze

 

sublime visitations,

captured in clearest cadence,

he wandered, wondered…

 

with scrawling quill

words leapt over landscape

and soon began to soar…

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top of Wordsworth’s back garden at Dove Cottage
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“within the bounds of this huge concave; here should be my home, this valley be my world” – from Wordsworth’s poem ‘Home at Grasmere’
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grasmere caves
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the first page from Wordsworth’s first handwritten manuscript of the Prelude … awesome to see it up close

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A Dove in Flight (poem based on works by Rene Magritte)

Through childish eyes come sirrus skies,

Mere projections which jeopardise,

To break the ties, anaesthetise,

The world from its beholder.

 

Where day and night capsize forever,

And looming shadows so endeavour,

To blot all pigment, pluck hue from feather,

Under the uniform gaslight haze.

 

And breaths collide beneath coarse fabric,

Caressing, guessing; motions tantric.

The need for flesh becoming frantic,

For love to be unmasked.

 

And in the footsteps of Socrates,

Forestall cave wall hypocrises,

Gaze upon these alpine mockeries,

The truth is on the canvas.

 

Through tempest glides the gentle dove,

As all who waver watch above,

Its azure plumage doused with love,

For a moment free again.

***

Continue reading “A Dove in Flight (poem based on works by Rene Magritte)”

Ode to J. G. Ballard

Curator of cascading cavalcades, causeways of carnality,

Virtuoso of vivisection, mosaics of calamity,

in whose worlds a prosaic insanity festers midst cortex;

Synergies of synapse and syntax, a surrealist vortex.

Through geometric rhetoric of plaza and high rise,

Come parables comparable to Freudian mythologies.

Where avian conclaves of Loplopian apostles soar,

As the corpses of collossi are washed numbly ashore.

and marooned tycoons wander in some highway purgatory,

Metro meets Mecca: all hail the gods of multi-storey.

A Triassic redux as concrete jungles plunge neath tide,

From Shanghai to Shepperton he pedalled, forever wide-eyed…

***

Exquisite Corpsing (a surrealist poem)

Latent gospel plucked from slumber

Writhing as seething logic tears asunder

These retinal confessionals which drawn

From the tattered slacks of droning hacks whose dawn

Is borne from fleeting mania amongst ceaseless cognitive curfews

Where spontaneous poetic passions percolate like zeppelins doing corkscrews

Where cubist contortions reign and the blighted blatherings of historians

Wither into stony columns of drivel and whitespace – trivial emporiums

Which shy away from the kaleidoscopic sensorium of surreality

An exclusive realm of poets and purveyors of psyche, far beyond mere animality

***

 

NB: featured image is Max Ernst’s ‘triumph of surrealism’ (1937)