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sisters & sparrows

Poetry. Photography. Life.

Tag Archives: sun

{photo: how to catch a sun by Mlyutin}


Denise Levertov

What patience a landscape has, like an old horse,
head down in its field.
Grey days,
air and fine rain cling, become one, hovering till at last,
languidly, rain relinquishes that embrace, consents
to fall. What patience a hill, a plain,
a band of woodland holding still, have, and the slow falling
of grey rain… Is it blind faith? Is it
merely a way to deeply rest? Is the horse
only resigned,or has it
some desirable knowledge, an enclosed meadow
quite other than its sodden field,
which patience is the key to? Has it already,
within itself, entered that sunwarmed shelter?

Denise Levertov is fast becoming one of my favourite poets (have you noticed?).  She’s so effortless.  Get out her collection This Great Unknowing (her last forty poems, published posthumously) and you will see.

Going to meet all my friends tonight, and then out to dinner with my family at the sexy new restaurant in town.  Dressed up of course – can’t resist.

And isn’t this beautiful?  (Thanks to Ellie for sharing this with me, you legend).  I could really do with a beach day!


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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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