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sisters & sparrows

Poetry. Photography. Life.


by Frank Asch


If sunlight fell like snowflakes,

gleaming yellow and so bright,

we could build a sunman,

we could have a sunball fight,

we could watch the sunflakes

drifting in the sky.

We could go sleighing

in the middle of July

through sundrifts and sunbanks,

we could ride a sunmobile,

and we could touch sunflakes—

I wonder how they’d feel.


{photos by Mary Robinson}


Full Moon and Little Frieda

by Ted Hughes

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket

And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.

“Moon!” you cry suddenly, “Moon! Moon!”

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.


{photos by Maggie of folkloric – amazing blog}

We did some gardening this morning.  My Gramps, who is 81, is hugely fit and came round to help.  Our fence had been taken out by the flooding and when the water went down it left a whole dead tree on the lawn.  Fun times.

Then we had beer and watched the rugby.  And THEN my sister and I played a game called ‘who’s in the bag’, which is a name-guessing game.  I was trying to describe Eric Morcambe and didn’t know who he was, so I said, ‘he shares a name with the beach where the cockle pickers died’.  Only, always being prone to spoonerisms, I slipped up and said ‘cocker pickles’.  Easy mistake.


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