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December 13, 2007 1 Comment. Staring into my living space, so weak I appear. Of the human race, a well-established career;. I feel so out of place. I look back at the years, a memory trace of an old frontier. See the rough bumps, the crinkly pattern in an emerald green depression vase. In my changing face, I feel a new tear.
Dusk of the long distance,. Beneath the mantle of lament. The peak bloom, gnawing decay,. The weight of favor;. Annealing fire, moulded by. Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow. Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion. Colored by common defiance,. The tangled weave, pathos and ethos,.
Short pieces of writing capturing a fully-engaged moment. About Small Stony Notes and Jottings. Jade Staircase Lament In a Station of the Metro. Care was taken with the geography to ensure authenticity.
Heather Wastie writes poems, songs and monologues. This blog began with her oral history project with people who worked in the carpet industry in Kidderminster. This sculpture is in the grounds of Burns Cottage. Gathering her brows like gathering storm,. Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. Or like the borealis race,.
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