dianavilliers: self portrait (Default)
This Hidden Light


Like a velvet blanket
it unfolds itself across the sky,
all plush purples and fiery orange

spread above the earth's black skirt
sequined with silver cities
just before dawn.

Elizabeth Barette (ysabetwordsmith)

Prompted by Redsky

dianavilliers: self portrait (Default)



I think this is the final version. I decided to stick with the ragged left, worked out how to persuade the GIMP to use a rather nicer font, spent a really long time creating a mask to fade enough but not too much of  the picture, added some coloured bits and last but not least, created and added my very own watermark.

Thanks very much everybody for your feedback on the initial attempts.

eta: Typo fixed.

Fishbowl

Jul. 10th, 2008 10:16 am
dianavilliers: self portrait (Default)
I myself have no talent for writing and I find it very hard work. As a result of this I have the greatest awe for people who can and do write, and even more admiration for those who have the guts to make writing their profession. Elizabeth Barrette, aka [livejournal.com profile] ysabetwordsmith is doing this.

One of the things she does regularly is hold online poetry improv sessions she calls Fishbowls, in which she asks for thematic prompts from her audience. This time one of the things she asked for was scenic places. I offered Rotoiti (20/05/08) and Kaikoura (24/05/08). She chose Kaikoura, and here's the result.

 

 

The Beaches of Kaikoura

Walking the beaches of Kaikoura,
you can see where the island
folds her hands over her waist:
faultlines interlaced like fingers,
the knuckles of her mountains
gnarled as an old woman’s.

Out there, unseen but meaningful,
cold water wells up from the ocean.
Fish follow it, with whales and dolphins
following the fish. At low tide,
seals stretch themselves
along the pebbled shore.

Overhead, long white clouds
arrange themselves in rolls.
There are languages lost in the hollows
of this land, like tufts of fur
caught in rough bark.
This place plucks at you that way.

The people come and go.
Only the mountains remain,
their intricately knitted chains
embracing cold clear tides,
against which all our urgency is
no more than the scuttling of crayfish. 


                                                Elizabeth Barrette

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