See how he goes, lightlyAmong the golden shades of fallen autumn leavesSeeking out the meaning of his soul, the wonder of all that we can know through the marrow of this fleeting, human, being See how he goes, with words like wandering stars tracing graceful tangents and ellipsesFinding poetry in late night conversations overheard in [...]
Simplicity, humility Are the thoughts that most appeal to me At the threshold of a window ledge Yet all my dreams are fevered My thoughts all cantilevered Still against the bitter end I hedge ...and I’m quite good with hedges Bill Hunt ©2019
It’s already changing in ways we can’t even know or understand.
So perfect now, but it’s only like this because were innocent… until now.
It’s true, there is fate.
Our fate is to taste the perfect fruit of the garden, then fall from grace.
https://vimeo.com/326543196 A video I shot for https://www.christinahuynh.com.au
The storm has raged and seethed and sung.
Death awaits at journey’s end
A silent half-thought sentence
Suspended in mid-air
Neither floating up nor down; just there
With care I would attend the words
wrought for that closing phrase
So many drafts, how densely filled that final august page
How tedious, how tiresome the bleak unmetered text
In vain anticipation of some good that must come next
Attend you now the space before that final deathly dot
It’s there for you to fill with love,
for that is all you’ve got.
The elongated shadow cast by the timber cottage blocked the morning sun’s rays from reaching the narrow path by which the boy and his grandmother approached the beach each day.
The small building was plain and unremarkable except for the kitchen chimney which jutted skywards at an awkward angle due to an error in its construction.
Translated in dark silhouette onto the rippled sand of the beach, the chimney’s conical steel cap sometimes seemed to be pointing out the spot where the boy’s grandmother would wait, towel in hand, for him to return from the freezing foam of the ocean each day.
We never think we’re bad
We never think it’s us
Just maybe a little mad...
But we don’t like to discuss, it
doesn’t matter that we’re haunted
By the stupid things we've done
That we still live in the shadows cast
By wounded friends and lovers
And cower, cold, and shunned by others
It’s over... and over again
It’s the stare of former friends
At wits’ end...
At the wit’s end.