Should I open the lid what could escape inside my mind I have many things memories string to tie the past to the future stones to lay foundations or archeological ruins feathers plucked laying bare wrapped in warmth paper clips holding it all together no escape staying within my mind Never open the lid.
As i walked among the rows of shelves i could see could feel the eyes upon my being drilling into my flesh a bead of sweat trickled what am i doing here what was that? footsteps! no a scraping was that breathing? Darkness enveloped again footsteps No……i am alone among the shelves something sent a breath a breeze across my face more sweat i am alone eyes i feel upon me still among the rows of shelves i walk suddenly there in front of me A jump back recoil i turn to run a look of horror of shock it’s there! As i walked among the rows of shelves.
Euclid Pythagoras A mystery to me Some say Geometry I say angles axioms lines planes spacial relationships (my bestie and me) circles and rectangles Pie (not Pi) I need a protractor? but on my farm I need a tractor But a set square? I only have Becky’s Squares which do me fine But do I need to know the shapes the size the dimensions of things around my house I need to know what bird that sings not the workings of many things From my schooling Pythagoras and Euclid my mind has hid.
Debbie illustrated her stanza of TS Elliot’s The Waste Land poem beautifully with references to Margate. The name reference made me laugh as I had just read another reason that he added an S to his name. As I am not English and don’t have a vast amount of photos from my times in England to illustrate my post, I shall have to with what I have here.
From the same poem, which has many stanzas, I have chosen this stanza and I feel my photo may be an Aussie interpretation. You have to know a bit about Australian insects and their behaviour to fully understand the part of the poem and my photo interpretation. All works well up to the last line. For those who could be unaware of my liking for all things in nature and could have an aversion to spiders, perhaps read the wonderful verse but proceed no further or as I would like, that you do have a quick peek to understand my reasoning for including this photo to match the poem.
“She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: “Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.” When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.”