Statistics: Posted by Perelandra — Thu Oct 09, 2014 12:22 pm
Statistics: Posted by Glowing Butterfly — Tue Aug 12, 2014 4:03 pm
Statistics: Posted by Perelandra — Thu Apr 25, 2013 3:17 pm
Perelandra wrote:
This probably belongs under poetry, but the circular theme goes here, too.The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others and the pastures red with uneaten sheep's placentas and the long summer days and the newmown hay and the wood pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the smell of the gorse and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman whistling "The Roses are Blooming in Picardy" and the standard oil-lamp and of course the snow and to be sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and every fourth year the February debacle and the endless April showers and the crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again.
Samuel Beckett, Watt
"Hear now Cuckoo of Ken Kesey!
Merely improbable be easy!"
Statistics: Posted by Hammer of Los — Thu Apr 25, 2013 12:06 pm
Statistics: Posted by Perelandra — Wed Apr 24, 2013 2:49 pm
The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others and the pastures red with uneaten sheep's placentas and the long summer days and the newmown hay and the wood pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the smell of the gorse and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman whistling "The Roses are Blooming in Picardy" and the standard oil-lamp and of course the snow and to be sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and every fourth year the February debacle and the endless April showers and the crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again.
Samuel Beckett, Watt
Statistics: Posted by Perelandra — Wed Apr 24, 2013 2:42 pm
Statistics: Posted by ShinShinKid — Tue Apr 23, 2013 2:57 pm
Statistics: Posted by Hammer of Los — Sat Feb 02, 2013 10:24 am