Freya’s Evening Primrose

February 15, 2016


Some think the primrose
comes only in yellow.
Eggshell-blue is my favourite.

They speckle my lands
the army-fields of Asgard
so from my raven’s eye, the soil
is as much sky as the drag and thrust
strumming my wings.

This is where I bring my lovers
the chosen dead who cannot help
but want me.

Tonight I will take one
into the grassland, pluck
an evening primrose
from its root

and tell him how the nectaries
secrete in the gloaming.
The petals open.
The stamens stand erect,
golden, a royal crest or standard
fluttering its invitation.

This is the moment I love
when night flies cannot resist
the sweetness of the nectar.

Angelina Ayers

Yes, probably true…

February 15, 2016


disgusting to me…

February 15, 2016

Paul Laurenzi

The landlady is disgusting to me. It’s the same disgust I felt when I was a child and had to vomit outside the open doors of the slaughterhouse. If she were dead I would, today, feel no disgust – dead bodies on the dissecting table never remind me of live bodies – but she’s alive, and living in a moldy ancient reek of inn kitchens.

Thomas Bernhard




“Sometimes a god comes,” Selver said. “He brings a new way to do a thing, or a new thing to be done. A new kind of singing, or a new kind of death. He brings this across the bridge between the dream-time and the world-time. When he has done this, it is done. You cannot take things that exist in the world and try to drive then back into the dream, to hold them inside the dream with walls and pretences. That is insanity. There is no use pretending, now, that we do not know how to kill one another.”

Ursula K. Le Guin
The Word for World is Forest

like a bruise…

February 15, 2016


She wondered whether there would ever be an hour in her life when she didn’t think of him – didn’t speak to him in her head, didn’t relive every moment they’d been together, didn’t long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that had astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever.

Philip Pullman
The Amber Spyglass,

Reading this morning

February 15, 2016