Is it spelled “savor” or “savour”? Self isn’t sure.
Self’s day consisted of watching television (news) and reading poetry.
Specifically, poetry by Galway Kinnell and Kate Miller.
She has Miller’s The Observances, a first poetry collection.
Miller’s poem “Promise” begins thus:
The earth is scanty over London
clay, sour with runoff, a swollen underpass
of beige.
So beautiful.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
Some died while calling home to say they were OK.
Some called the telephone operators and were told to
stay put.
Some died after over an hour spent learning they would die.
Some died so abruptly they may have seen death from inside it.
Some burned, their faces caught fire.
Some were asphyxiated.
Some broke windows and leaned into the sunny day.
Some were pushed out from behind by others in flames.
Some let themselves fall, begging gravity to speed them to
the ground.
Some leapt hand in hand that their fall down the night sky might
happen more lightly.
— excerpt from “When the Towers Fell,” in the Galway Kinnell collection Strong Is Your Hold
Ahhh, yet again Sylvain Landry comes up with a great photo challenge!
It’s SILHOUETTE.
Browsing her photo archives, self came across this one: the ceiling light of The Red Room above the Café Paradiso in beautiful Cork, Ireland.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
Kanlaon 