by
fillière
Categories: Being, Creativity, Poetry, Self, The Searching Eye, Uncategorized, WritingTags: Creativity, Poetry, Writing
2 Comments
Category: Writing
No Strut; No Stuff
Strut is never/neither
my settled social game
nor ruse.
Strut is in the bristle
of the eye, the ear, the fan
of the peacock’s
blown abuse.
No.
No …
I don’t know strut …
I don’t know strut
until I draw
and then …
it is no flaw
but ease of use,
the old confidence of flow,
that little bit of con with quill, with pen …
a feathered airborne con of thought
once pen-knife cut
and carved
at calamus.
Calamitous
my drawing now
if non-aero engineered;
it cannot find its lift,
won’t fly
without its strut.
No strut; no stuff.
Fillière © 11 12 2017
November Light
November night, November need, the bleed of light our planet’s blue and feckless flight from sun, and the meaning we ascribe for optimism’s sake.
Late Year Chthonic
Chronic white noise grows until the final rose yields to palate pure
Climate Change
Content, context, and text setting are all freshly changed up enough from last week’s blog to create a different experience. The photo is mine too so no infringement of anyone’s copyright occurs.
fillière 