microscopic muses

      I have found all the colours     Of every changing season      Masquerading as an Autumn leaf

Let me tell you something, in case you don’t already know……. the wind breathes your name and    time shows me your pain,  as the dawn uncovers my eyes; as the dusk settles the dust  in my brain  *words are born*  

                                              Wooden words                                            Devoid of feeling                                                Barren brain                                                           

                                        Puddle of mud(dles)                                Where a Soul seeking, reprieve                                          Finds clears solutions                                                  

                                      Those dead branches                                       To be resurrected                                          In the Spring                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                                   Will those dead branches                                         In the Spring                                        Be resurrected ?

Raindrops on railings Lingering love Rendezvous 

      There is always grief in a morning      Where the razored wrists of a mistress       Dares to steal blissful sleep        *still owed by the night*

 ‘Aedh  Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven’ Had I the heavens ’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths, Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet. But I, being poor, have only my dreams I have spread my dreams under your feet Tread softly because you tread on my dreams photo: SarahA O’Leary

                                           Cotton needle pull                                               Wool over eyes                                            Blind to a world                                               that believes;                                 an Angel sits on your shoulder                                                         *dead*  

  LITERARY HUB VIA WMFA “I Did Not Want Her Name to Be Synonymous with Madness.” Heather Clark on Writing Sylvia Plath In Conversation with Courtney Balestier on the  WMFA  Podcast By  WMFA  October 20, 2021 Writing can be lonely work;  WMFA counters that with conversation. It’s a show about creativity and craft, where writer and host Courtney Balestier talks shop with some of today’s best writers and examines the issues we face when we do creative work. The mission of  WMFA is to explore why we writers do what we do, so that we can do it with more intention, and how we do what we do, so that we can do it better. In this episode, Courtney Balestier talks to Heather Clark about adding context to the shorthand of Sylvia Plath with her new biography,  Red Comet , the years-long work of such a massive project—including permissions, archives, and organizing research—and charting Plath’s growth as a person and a creative. From the episode: Heather Clark:  I really wanted to try to rewrite th

  When you spoke too much,  yo u said so little   Now you speak so little, you say so much      * and at last I can actually hear what you say *

                                              Where the light breaths and then breeds                              There upon the sea                      My heart bleeds for your return

                                                                      Void of stimulating sounds                                      Voicelessly drowned                                  By times drugged drunkenness   

                                          Pay attention to days                                          The air breathes life                                      Living is time unwrapped 

                                                      Above and below                                                                                                       The surface of                                                                                             Your  realisation