Trees spilling with boughs of white flowers Like bright eyes, shrouded in the waxy palms of leaves I watch some fall, stolen by the breeze, I watch them fall (in love). Petals unfurling, they embrace the dusk with open arms, sprinkling the earth. Hush. Listen to them land: tiny, soft blankets for unseen slumbering fairies.…
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I wrote this poem in light of the events in the news recently that have made the word ‘home’ a politically charged one, and also as a memory of my personal experiences that put into question what home might be.
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A pot of basil, two lovers and a tragedy. It’s a plot that will always sound like you’ve heard it before (save for the pot of basil.) This week, read my take on the tragic Romantic-era poem ‘Isabella’ by Keats.
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The blog hath risen from its slumber! As I have had some free time over the Spring Break, I managed to scribble down this poem. This is inspired by some of my recent reading: Shakespeare’s ‘Marriage of True Minds’ and Carol Ann Duffy’s ‘Valentine’.
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