August Thoughts

                                                  A hedge before me, one behind
                                                  a blackbird sings from that,
                                                  above my small book many-lined
                                                  I apprehend his chat.

                                                  Up trees, in costumes bluff,
                                                  mild accurate cuckoos bleat.
                                                  Lord love me, good the stuff
                                                  I write in a shady seat

Flann O'Brien ( Brian O'Nolan) (1911-1966) "The Monastic Scribe"

Painting Leon Spillaert Open Door  

“... Look in the places where ink does not show.
In the breaking voice
between the lines of a song.

Our history
is written in that song,
written on the voice,
sometimes written
on the heart...”

Carmen Tafolla


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