Rising from the winter fog, the quiet steam of the day opens out its blanket full upon the bleak and ground and tree and creek and blackbird wing. Around this shroud of mystery in the swirls of grey and white, wraps all the watch and wait and listen of this lost and lonely night.
Wonderful compilation of images and mind thoughts that condensed into this short piece is very impactful. You've found another magical aspect of early dawn awakening. I remember many a morning in my climbing days that were akin. Thank you for sharig.
Thanks, Richard, I had to look up Edphrasis. Good to know. For this one I had the writing first, then found the art to augment the text. The match can go either way I guess. Thanks for your comment.
Very engaging in both words (verses) and the image which you have chosen and which very effectively complements the whole offering. Love and best wishes to you, Diana.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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But shouldn't, "steam," actually be stream? And referring to the "lost night" is looking backward rather than forward to the coming day.
Ron
Regis 🙏🐬🎵🎻🌹🎸