a “found” pastoral for my creative writing class.
And now the storm-blast came, and on me alone it blew.
An awful tempest mashed the air,
still treads the shadow of his foe
empowered without a breeze, without a tide,
with what malevolence
that brought the fog and mist, untouched by morning
that made the breeze to blow, untouched by noon.
Sky and ocean smote,
for the sky and the sea, the sea and the sky
with ceaseless turmoil seething: a formal feeling comes.
Essentially I’ve just made a mash-up of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Emily Dickinson. And it’s about the pebble beaches in Seattle. I’m ridiculously pleased with myself.
Real updates soon enough.
An awful tempest mashed the air,
still treads the shadow of his foe
empowered without a breeze, without a tide,
with what malevolence
that brought the fog and mist, untouched by morning
that made the breeze to blow, untouched by noon.
Sky and ocean smote,
for the sky and the sea, the sea and the sky
with ceaseless turmoil seething: a formal feeling comes.
Essentially I’ve just made a mash-up of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Emily Dickinson. And it’s about the pebble beaches in Seattle. I’m ridiculously pleased with myself.
Real updates soon enough.