Karl Atlas -Exerpt from Chapter 1

 

He thought he must be dead. And death was a huge disappointment. It appeared to be what indeed many people feared, that all that happens when you die is that you simply cease to exist.  He lay there, unable to move in the nothingness for what felt like forever. Then his breath began to shorten, he felt his chest tighten –feelings. Surely one does not have feelings in death? He took comfort from this and tried to relax and breathe slowly. He had to stay calm. He knew he had to wait. He was waiting for something but he couldn’t remember what.

Hours, days, weeks passed. Still there was only darkness and silence.

Darkness.

Silence.

Darkness.

Then, one day, he heard a voice calling his name.

“Karl Atlas. It is time to wake up.”

The voice he heard was mechanical in tone and showed zero emotion, but it still filled him with joy because the dark, silent spell was finally broken and the voice reminded him of something wonderful which he had almost forgotten. That he had a name. His name was Karl Atlas.....

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Billy Collins

Madrigal

Más transparente
que esa gota de agua
entre los dedos de la enredadera
mi pensamiento tiende un puente
de ti misma a ti misma
Mírate
más real que el cuerpo que habitas
fija en el centro de mi frente
Naciste para vivir en una isla.
* * * * * * * * * * *
More transparent
than this water dropping
through the vine's twined fingers
my thought stretches a bridge
from yourself to yourself
Look at you
more real than the body you inhabit
fixed at the centre of my mind

You were born to live on an island

-Octavio Paz

By the way...

You have been archived.
Moved to the closed stack.
You're still technically
part of the collection.
But no longer openly waiting
to be discovered.

You will hopefully survive
a few years longer,
before you are pulped
and re-cycled.
You will live on longer
in my mind.

-Liz Haigh Februay 2013

signing out

this
is
just
a
list
of
words
a
long
long
list
of
words
nothing
more

and here is a line of words - there you go a long long long long line of words in a line

ACTIONS

speak

LOUDER

than words

here is a statement

it was self defence

Happy New Year!

Fear less, hope more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love more, and all good things will be yours.
-- Swedish Proverb

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Christmas Ramblings
Of course it was a Pagan festival long before it was a Christian one. The Pagans got the timing just right, in the midst of winter when the weather is cold and the days dark and we really need something to cheer us up!

Here is a poem I had published in Peoples Friend a few years ago. I got paid £10 for it! (if I had only known then this would be the pinnacle of my poetry writing career).

Christmas is coming
The goose is getting scared
Whose idea was it
That we'd always eat a bird?


c) Liz Haigh