Latest Entries
Poetry

what matter what light

what is there left to make of this diminished light? is this benediction? or a requiem rung from empty throats? what use in evading the day’s extinction? it is vespers, and the cantor marks an inescapable terminus what matter what light is left to us? for while there is any light at all, benedicimus! benedicimus … Continue reading

Poetry

tell me

tell me what happened after you left – of the intimacies that died absent of ceremony, without song the days since have been a procession of ponderous silences, so close together it has been impossible to speak between them the things that should really rather be shouted into the cavity created, refined to echoes – … Continue reading

Poetry

the reason why

if I needed a reason to pace the floor, pass by the door a fifth, tenth, fourteenth time, to check the gas, to raise the windows, to create just a little more space for the dark to slip into if I needed a reason to count the passing dogs with impatient owners hurrying them home, … Continue reading

Poetry

cigarette before dawn

before dawn, I curl myself into a single cigarette and forget for a moment that I am anything other than lips, than smoke, than the act of exhaling when I write such things, I am shifting the silences into a semblance of meaning, wrapping words around the hours too late to be called night, too … Continue reading

Poetry

I would bury them…

I would bury them, my sorrows, deep into the loam – into the comfort of earth, and dark, and waiting I would bury them, these burdens, beneath the roots of the locust that stood as witness to their birth I would bury them, my troubles, close by where I’ll see come the spring these troubles … Continue reading

some days just
Art / Poetry

some days just

here’s that fracture point again when you just know you have to change things around, create a frisson of upheaval some days just settle down into the low-down, nose-to-cheek with d minor riffs and lost grips on others’ barrelhouse hearts and yet there are other days – days that survive the coup to rise up, … Continue reading

Poetry

the creek

I lived once alongside the creek with its green tumblings and blue pools, where younger hands than these knew the language of the ridges in the bark of the oak that created a bridge of itself – a path to the tall grasses fanning the sky on the other side, where the small adventures of … Continue reading

the betweens
Photography / Poetry

the betweens

more familiar with the betweens than with the origins and destinations and that, I suppose, is the nature of the journey we take – a conglomeration of moments framed by first and last breaths, by the hopeful fogs of tomorrow’s mornings and the dry silences of last year’s gardens © Sarah Whiteley Continue reading