<![CDATA[
<body><script type="text/javascript">
function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) {
if(window.addEventListener) {
window.addEventListener('load',
function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false);
} else {
window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; });
}
}
</script>
<div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div>
<script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script>
<script type="text/javascript">
gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() {
if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) {
gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({
url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar/38112018?origin\x3dhttp://her-train-of-thought.blogspot.com',
where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"),
id: "navbar-iframe"
});
}
});
</script>
]]>
Whose train of thought?
Old subway lines
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
Favorite terminals
Aliza, the hodgepodge
Brian, the happy obituarist
Carljoe, bayaw sa klase at kanto
Daryll, the free migrant
Den, the travelling feline
Egay's friendster kundiman
Egay's lj kundiman
Em, the punch-drunk daisy
Gabby, girl with ribbons undone
Gloria, going places in her jeans
Ian, sandwichspy eating the sun
Jeline, with her random shrapnel
Joel, the rambling soul
Kit, with an eternal itch
Kuya Zivan, high on acid42
Larry's highest hiding place
Maita, going beyond the sunrise
Margie, in a dirty shirt
Mika, the dog woman
Mikael, may abo sa dila
Mitzie, between moons and eggs
Nikko, with his pebbles and sex
Ning, in her little tugboat
Peachy, with patolas and doughnuts
Rabbi, posing on the proskenion
Tintin, detoxing on the couch
Twinkle, traveling light
Vlad, the dirty pop machine
Wanda, warcar at pansitan
Waps, on the old road
Yol, nababaog na nga ba?
Zia, wandering without subtitles
Sunday, January 28, 2007
11:28 PM
Snow
by Margaret Avison
Nobody stuffs the world in at your eyes.
The optic heart must venture: a jail-break
And re-creation. Sedges and wild rice
Chase rivery pewter. The astonished cinders quake
With rhizomes. All ways through the electric air
Trundle candy-bright disks; they are desolate
Toys if the soul's gates seal, and cannot bear,
Must shudder under, creation's unseen freight.
But soft, there is snow's legend: colour of mourning
Along the yellow Yangtze where the wheel
Spins an indifferent stasis that's death's warning.
Asters of tumbled quietness reveal
Their petals. Suffering this starry blur
The rest may ring your change, sad listener.
Labels: poetry