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6 Jan 2006 @ 15:00
This poem was written after the devastating storm of 1991 when thousands of trees were uprooted around England by the gales and storms. I went to Richmond Park then and some 6 months later, close to home then, and stared at the giant trees with their roots silouetted, all around me. It was a hollocaust. At the same time I had just interviewed the most contraversial experimental architect in Japan, Montozuma for whom I had to research the history of Japanese religious thinking, as his architecture was mythological and culturally symbolic. This architect was a Metabolist, obsesseed with constricting and repetitive factory like robotic shapes, which were hugely disturbing.
Beauty rests and beauty lays
In waiting for the dawn
Upon its own inspiring grace
In transgressing from forlorn.
Bent and twisted, scratched and split
Wrinkled skin of bark and trunk
Dried up marbling grains of wood
Sawn at every join.
Heaped in piles with remnant twigs
Arms and legs and torso bits
Abandoned now and left to sit..
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4 comments
6 Jan 2006 @ 17:28 by jstarrs : torso bits
never seen
a bit without a whole
the whole point being
less than the son
of a hole or
the son of a bit
or some thing
some bit or whole
along those general lines
or waves or points
like light annoints
the darkest bits
6 Jan 2006 @ 19:34 by judih : torn so bits
flying bits of saw dust and dreadful
withered fingers, oak aged and barrelled
a catastrophic forest, no sound
while lone figure dusts off ambition
and re-ploughs the earth
6 Jan 2006 @ 21:29 by jstarrs : turn to blitz
earth turns to blitz
churns its bits
bits its lisps
lists like a gone plough
what was: gone now
++++++
Not bad!! N
15 Jan 2006 @ 19:36 by kernerewek : Finger!
Not that one noticed!
Its sudden removal.
Had I been a Fielder,
I might have caught it.
As it was!
One was obliged!
To pick it up,
From a bed of sawdust..
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