A return to earth
for tending and restoration
is simply another phase
on the journey of Self.
(Kit Perriman)
(Photo: Kit Perriman)
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I refuse to vanish or set
when gravity tugs me to earth
in a blaze of gore or glory –
to wane to nothingness beyond
a slice of ashen promise –
And I will not slide quietly by
a masculine smothering of power –
for the damage will already be done.
Have you seen how moonlight blazes so hard
it slips beyond any brute shadow?
(Kit Perriman)
(Painting: Victor Florence Pollett)
Copyright © 2022 | KitPerriman.com | All Rights Reserved
This is the womb of the world
where two seas collide
at a hammock of land
and bony rocks arch
in the jet blood-black spray. Three
mythical crone stones –
who see what sharp lips never
tell – still watch through
their ageless snake hair for the
goings of they that
once crawled from their legs in the
primeval salt-dawn of time.
(Kit Perriman)
(Photo: Kit Perriman)
Copyright © 2022 | KitPerriman.com | All Rights Reserved
It is not
that I am afraid of death
and of leaving
a half-dripped life
with all of those loose spitting drops
entombing the forever –
It is
barely understanding
how precious
each strum
on the wick has been,
how very fragile that flame.
(Kit Perriman)
(Photo: Kit Perriman)
Copyright © 2022 | KitPerriman.com | All Rights Reserved