She came sailing in — foxgloved murder digitalis among shape-shifters in ash-colored silk an Austen novel in her head drysalter’s pharmacopœia of prurience in everyone else’s closet Gothic pawned in a room of Macbeths unshriven, exhumed desire — sailing in, lighting torches blanketed fire, lavender swan.
At d’Verse Sarah asked us to write a Quadrille of 44 words using the word "Ash."
This is a reworking of an earlier poem.
Click on Mr. Linky to read more.
Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember
Two moving speeches from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, both in the same scene:
one a soliloquy on his own fate . . .
I have lived long enough: My way of life
Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
. . . the other lamenting a physician’s lack of cure for his wife’s guilt-worn sanity —
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?