David Jones's Blog, page 1361
June 28, 2012
The Mansion of Winding Corridors
The mansion was of winding corridors
And inconceivably hidden floors,
Over which they said nobody was a Master,
But all made level by the mighty Caster,
To walk and stroll amongst that vast old place,
With all the pleasures and no cause for haste.
Perhaps upon some long forgotten day
All had been equal in their happy stay
But some unexpected time had occurred
And into that mansion had troubles stirred.
From that day onwards nothing was the same
For upon it all one man laid his claim
And took at once to t...
ruinedchildhood:
Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the...
Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the fact that Pooh has just shoved the equivalent of his own internal organs back into his body like it was no big deal.
June 27, 2012
The Will o'the Wisp
These warm summer nights through the kitchen door
Open me up to the lunar moths and the insects who crave
The light of the inside. See, they come fluttering in, all
Composed of dust and age and fragile little things which
Could be crushed so easily. They bump and thump against
The roof and the electric strip light which whirs its tempting
Tune and with a harsh voice offers its glare to the
Summer darkness. Black against my windows, the night time
Presses in as though all is at an end, and those white...
June 26, 2012
A View from the Sky
I gazed out over the ruined fields, the desecrated meadows, the dead flowers, and knew, finally and for certain, that there was no contentment anywhere in the world. Happiness, perhaps, because happiness is transient, it is by definition fleeting, but contentment is only thus when it lasts. In my eyes, I saw what was in my heart. Everything cherished is eventually corrupted and ruined beyond all repair, be it due simply to time, or due to the actions and intrusions of other people - pollutant...
June 25, 2012
Thinking Chapters
Chapters are strange things. They certainly do perform a technical function for the reader - having somewhere to stop reading and put a book down for the night is useful, and they similarly allow for the creation of a coherent place to restart the reading process the following day. Without them, it would be difficult to know when best to stop reading, and where best to start again. For the writer, too, they are of use - they give shape to a narrative, the sort of shape which rises and falls,...
