Poetry Prose Lane

I remember trying to photograph what was mostly air. And the long drive home, together, x dusk,. It seems a lid on final things, that sea edge, sliver of bright steel that rims the slowly darkening marsh. The muddy hammocks seem to catch and drag the slowly sliding sun across their shell heap middens, scarfy with groundsel and dusty reeds.

The water turns to silver as we watch. The smell of rancid butter, slightly scorched, drenches the crowded atrium. Outside, snow falls on the parking lot, a trifle dreary but mystical in the softened neon of afternoon. The mall is crowded, sleazy, warm. A prototype for Paradise? But that semi-forest across the street seems nearer to a paradise I could imagine, beautiful—. Here I can wait for the opera, warm, friendly, safe—. Had I as a child ever heard silence? So many of my memories of childhood seem connected with sounds. Water and weather of course. The aches and creaks of a house—and the groans, ticks, and murmurs of the machines within it.

Other flyers were doing the same thing. Flitting about like invisible sprites, we were all making crop circles - for no other reason than, it was fun. Most flyers like flying dreams simply because they're fun.

And, some of them are. But flying spans the entire range from agony to ecstasy, thus providing the full range of expression for the emotional self. It can be a frightened flight, fleeing the nightmare. It can be a peak experience, an emotional "high," living at the pleasure of the wind. I have flown in patterns of geometric beauty or whirling color, in the depth of darkness and in phosphorescent light.

Contemporary writing from Canada and the world

But I can also float in the midst of nothingness where there is no color, no light, no "I. There can be feelings of euphoria, bliss, satisfaction, realization, knowingness, religious awe or love.

The main purpose of flying is the sheer joy of the escape from gravity, not the destination. Dancing is flying high an energy rush body and soul ecstatically united Free form, like birds playing warm breezes swooping, diving erratic thrusts Breathing deeply sweating profusely moving effortlessly Butterflies fly, and dance petal to petal move over honey bee Dance your dream fly high The famous "Ah ha!

It comes from suddenly seeing the bigger picture. Flying is an "Ah ha! We can if we want to, but I think we might be missing the point. Flying is a verb, not a noun, a happening, not a written language or frozen symbol. I believe we don't get the meaning and significance of flying just by talking about it. We fully "get" it only when we do it.

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We cannot catch the wind in a net. Nor keep flight in a cage of words. Do you know what the most popular flying myth is? Not Pegasus, that's for sure. It's Myth of Icarus. It's told as a cautionary tale: But I've always found it curious.

Further Down Memory Lane: Early Life, Prose and Poetry by John R. Pearsall - Hardcover

It's never told as the tale of Daedelus. The tale of the clever one with the sharp mind and right attitude and emotional maturity and clear conscience who actually got all the way to his destination.

We're supposed to focus on the empty glass, not the full one. This is a collation of stories, ideas, photos, poems by people in the bloom of young adulthood. The book has Peter Carey's first published short story. Bindi-Bindi Publishing, Queensland, Double page artwork by Lynne Wilson.

Flying In Poetry and Prose - Linda Lane Magallon

Contains ten delightful stories written in rhyming verse. Imagine a crocodile and a snake going or a swim, or a discussion amongst the residents of the Australian bush regarding keeping fit. A tennis match between a wallaby and a kangaroo is not to be missed, and the Bush Band from Kakadu are samples of the absolutely charming stories in Australian Verse for the Young..

Oxford University Press, By the time I had finished writing 'The Crocodile and the Monkey' in a cool room lent to me by a friend , another story and other animals had begun stirring in my mind. And so it went on until all ten of these beastly tales were born - or re-born. Of the ten tales told here, the first two come from India, the next two from China, the next two from Greece, and the next two from the Ukraine.

The final two came directly from the Land of Gup. I hope you enjoy them and have a beastly time. And some of the things on the reborn tales are issues that are current even today. Hard to believe these were written more than two decades ago! Book has a gift.

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The poetry that emerged from the trenches of WWI is a remarkable body of work, at once political manifesto and literary beacon for the twentieth century. In this passionate recreation of the lives of the greatest poets to come out of the conflict, Nicholas Murray brilliantly reveals the men themselves as well as the struggle of the artist to live fully and to bear witness in the annihilating squalor of battle. Bringing into sharp focus the human detail of each life, using journals, letters and literary archives, Murray brings to life the men's indissoluble comradeship, their complex sexual mores and their extraordinary courage.

Poignant, vivid and unfailingly intelligent, Nicholas Murray's study offers new and finely tuned insight into the - often devastatingly brief - lives of a remarkable generation of men. Hulme - such heroic men, and such a terrible loss. York and Horne Publishers Australia, Described as "The story is almost unbearably beautiful. Its rhythms and gestures are those of life itself. Full of images that sing and dance in never-ending circles". Inscription and Signature of Author. There seems a multitude of bindings and this seems singular in style and may have been rebound - it has a soft brown leather cover embossed in a Celtic design with two small green roundels in opposite diagonal corners.