RSS Parrot

GHOST DIALOGUE Then there were ghosts. Where? In the attic? Of the mind, you might imagine. And did they speak then? They were full of talk. Nothing could stop their chatter. Was the wind blowing? It was distressing the leaves as they were distressed when the wind took them.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1848135419436704005#m

Published: October 20, 2024 22:53

GHOST DIALOGUE Then there were ghosts. Where? In the attic? Of the mind, you might imagine. And did they speak then? They were full of talk. Nothing could stop their chatter. Was the wind blowing? It was distressing the leaves as they were distressed …

The enormous moon. Fierce. Blinding. Night is a sheet against which it glows. Sudden, in the yard a cat yowls in fury. Time shudders around it. So much of the world and so loud, so luminous. Everything sudden, unsustainable.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1847045796698472480#m

Published: October 17, 2024 22:43

The enormous moon. Fierce. Blinding. Night is a sheet against which it glows. Sudden, in the yard a cat yowls in fury. Time shudders around it. So much of the world and so loud, so luminous. Everything sudden, unsustainable.

Listen to the world as it mutters to itself, barely audible, hardly there at all, hopeless and voiceless, silenced frozen in chaos. A vast field of grass rolls away in the dark, flat as a universe scrawled on blank paper.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1846683922450571315#m

Published: October 16, 2024 22:45

Listen to the world as it mutters to itself, barely audible, hardly there at all, hopeless and voiceless, silenced frozen in chaos. A vast field of grass rolls away in the dark, flat as a universe scrawled on blank paper.

When sprites and goblins appear in the night mirror to perform mischief and the choir begins its old adagios, wait your turn. Be patient. It’s only a dream with all the old words dancing. When will we wake up? Where is the new moon?

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1846325820341494007#m

Published: October 15, 2024 23:02

When sprites and goblins appear in the night mirror to perform mischief and the choir begins its old adagios, wait your turn. Be patient. It’s only a dream with all the old words dancing. When will we wake up? Where is the new moon?

Then there was dancing and before that more dancing, as if dancing could produce itself. Time ran ahead, stopped and waited, then lurched into dance. On the school dance floor spirits moved, dresses floated and feet moved fast, flying from something.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1845962282250956969#m

Published: October 14, 2024 22:57

Then there was dancing and before that more dancing, as if dancing could produce itself. Time ran ahead, stopped and waited, then lurched into dance. On the school dance floor spirits moved, dresses floated and feet moved fast, flying from something.

Darling sad winter, we are waiting in warm rooms for you to arrive and bring us presents of frozen misted windows, cold bathrooms, hard winds beautifully wrapped in icy rain. Send us cards with seasonal birds and bleak silences.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1844871219713277967#m

Published: October 11, 2024 22:42

Darling sad winter, we are waiting in warm rooms for you to arrive and bring us presents of frozen misted windows, cold bathrooms, hard winds beautifully wrapped in icy rain. Send us cards with seasonal birds and bleak silences.

See where the words go. Watch them creep from their mouse holes into the dim lit room and look round, startled, suspicious, as if nervous of the open space, seeking each other for company and meaning. Oh how they rejoice at their faint shadows.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1844511858117546031#m

Published: October 10, 2024 22:54

See where the words go. Watch them creep from their mouse holes into the dim lit room and look round, startled, suspicious, as if nervous of the open space, seeking each other for company and meaning. Oh how they rejoice at their faint shadows.

You set out again down the same road as before, whose name you forget. You are getting old and forget names, but the road looks just the same. Where is it leading? Can you still remember that? Too many planets. Now invent their names.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1844141667278033375#m

Published: October 9, 2024 22:23

You set out again down the same road as before, whose name you forget. You are getting old and forget names, but the road looks just the same. Where is it leading? Can you still remember that? Too many planets. Now invent their names.

Is autumn dying in the arms of winter? No, leaves continue green. There is no dying in the wet grass. There is no dying, no dying here, right here. The days look on, the nights still gather stars for a hobby and the cold holds off.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1843779146142593223#m

Published: October 8, 2024 22:22

Is autumn dying in the arms of winter? No, leaves continue green. There is no dying in the wet grass. There is no dying, no dying here, right here. The days look on, the nights still gather stars for a hobby and the cold holds off.

How perfectly night settles into its own bed of streets, trees and grass. It has learned its part in the human mind, knows breath and heart and stray limb, can make its speeches and hold its long silences. It has its bit part rolling with soft dreams.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1843056826553860294#m

Published: October 6, 2024 22:32

How perfectly night settles into its own bed of streets, trees and grass. It has learned its part in the human mind, knows breath and heart and stray limb, can make its speeches and hold its long silences. It has its bit part rolling with soft dreams.

He like words and things but sometimes he preferred words, the way they became things as delicious as fruit and flesh and sunlight melting to language. He would purse his lips to plump out sound and bellow silently at things as if lungs were words.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1842338193728843953#m

Published: October 4, 2024 22:57

He like words and things but sometimes he preferred words, the way they became things as delicious as fruit and flesh and sunlight melting to language. He would purse his lips to plump out sound and bellow silently at things as if lungs were words.

His handshake was weak. His bow tie was very tight about his wry neck. I remember him smiling as if to no one, eyes lost in a pool at the back of time. He dropped my hand and it slipped from him as did I to where I am now.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1841248451352494279#m

Published: October 1, 2024 22:46

His handshake was weak. His bow tie was very tight about his wry neck. I remember him smiling as if to no one, eyes lost in a pool at the back of time. He dropped my hand and it slipped from him as did I to where I am now.

Amber Under the desk-light the world contracts to a bowl of amber, a warm wash of silence. Sheets of paper form a pale bed on which light may sleep. Faint notes of winter music creep through late autumn, soft as fallen leaves, sullen in amber.

https://nitter.poast.org/george_szirtes/status/1840874013452894673#m

Published: September 30, 2024 21:59

Amber Under the desk-light the world contracts to a bowl of amber, a warm wash of silence. Sheets of paper form a pale bed on which light may sleep. Faint notes of winter music creep through late autumn, soft as fallen leaves, sullen in amber.