This is a multi-part message in MIME format. ------=_NextPart_000_0010_01C03B4D.C4C158E0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Hello Nessa, Thank you again for the four in your last number. Here are some things I = have worked on recently. This is a terribly busy time for me at = everything but poetry. How did the get-together with the Liverpudlians go? I sent a = well-wishing message on the night but i don't know if they got it. Regards, Chris Ravens If you ask me it will rain. That's what skies are sometimes for. Like one time I was caught without a coat or umbrella and only two other ravens daring to cross from one wood to another. They endured in their own way and only the three of us were there to know how=20 dark that day was. When the downpour came they soared up into it and barked back at me and stayed for a long time in the sky between the two woods. That was my bolt lightening for that day and more than enough too! To be out in it was all, a place for myth to advance across a soaked field and we ourselves forced into it. Living, naked clouds came up from the south west because the wind had=20 changed and the day spread out into a raven landscape of rain. Looking Out We were looking out after something woke us, a clutter, waking, sleeping,=20 fingers misleading,=20 deceitful declining padding. What had left? An ambulance in chrysan- themum yellow,=20 searching into night's light, an=20 unsettling kind.=20 Looking out, we saw=20 along the roadway flashes=20 of amber=20 a blustering rush=20 of clenched leaves. What is it? disbelieved presence? In a window in the rain,=20 our glassed faces=20 look at limits,=20 receptacles, the sick=20 dead leaves. Our mirror cracked from=20 your side to my side.=20 We took three paces through the room. Rain ran on panes, in yellow lines. Rain woke us.=20 Our ambivalent bed=20 turned cold and gave us a language for looking out. Summer All summer I was marked for someplace nobody heard of parting clung around me like darkness round a lamppost hinged in a memory of light on an overcast day cracks high up on a wall of cloud and long rituals of door-locking It happened like this if I remember rightly shadows slipped fast across a makeshift window in the kitchen they handled their money carefully like they handled their quarrels when the children were in bed and night curved round thread after thread to make a knot of sleep I listened to their talk and their struggle with the loss of love in the troublesome dark until the beat of moths on the skylight and as much of day as I could carry ------=_NextPart_000_0010_01C03B4D.C4C158E0 Content-Type: text/html; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable <!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN">
Thank you again for the four in = your last=20 number. Here are some things I have worked on recently. This is a = terribly busy=20 time for me at everything but poetry.
How did the get-together with the = Liverpudlians=20 go? I sent a well-wishing message on the night but i don't know if they = got=20 it.
Regards,
Chris
If you ask me it will rain.
That’s what skies are sometimes
for. Like one time I was caught
without a coat or umbrella
and only two other ravens
daring to cross from one wood
to another. They endured in their
own way and only the three
of us were there to know how
dark that day was. When
the downpour came they soared
up into it and barked back at me
and stayed for a long time in
the sky between the two woods.
That was my bolt lightening
for that day and more than
enough too! To be out in it was
all, a place for myth to advance
across a soaked field and we ourselves
forced into it. Living, naked
clouds came up from the south
west because the wind had
changed and the day spread out
into a raven landscape of rain.
Looking=20 Out=
We were looking out after something woke us,
a clutter,
waking, sleeping,
fingers misleading,
deceitful declining padding.
What had left?
An ambulance in chrysan-
themum yellow,
searching into
night’s light, an
unsettling kind.
Looking out, we saw
along the roadway
flashes
of amber
a blustering rush
of clenched leaves.
What is it?
disbelieved presence?
In a window in the rain,
our glassed faces
look at limits,
receptacles,
the sick
dead leaves.
Our mirror cracked from
your side to my side.
We took three paces
through the room.
Rain ran on panes,
in yellow lines.
Rain woke us.
Our ambivalent bed
turned cold
and gave us
a language for looking out.
Summer= <= /P>
All summer I was marked for someplace nobody heard of
parting clung around me
like darkness round a lamppost
hinged in a memory of light on an overcast day
cracks high up on a wall of cloud
and long rituals of door-locking
It happened like this if I remember rightly
shadows slipped fast across a makeshift window
in the kitchen they handled their money carefully
like they handled their quarrels
when the children were in bed
and night curved round
thread after thread to make a knot of sleep
I listened to their talk
and their struggle with the loss of love
in the troublesome dark
until the beat of moths on the skylight
and as much of day as I could carry