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The season of smoke is upon us— But then, aren’t they all of smoke? The baked pollen of Australian flowers Give us the quite different smell of bush. Our ‘Spring’ less torqued than, bright- Eyed iris tightened by freshened glare. My childhood winters played with A wood-stoked fire behind sooted glass. And what about the […]
November 10, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
Untitled Tea Making myself, and burning bone to cast china cups, drinking the tea for the love of it. Scrawling messages in pale clay for under- neath the mulch of leaves. Even if it’s only I who will read my future at the end of it. (Thanks to the Ben Zabbia Band for inspiration.) […]
November 9, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
‘You enjoy telling that one I can tell.’ I claimed. ‘Well of course I do, you should only tell those stories you’d like to hear and how you’d like to hear them! Let me hear no accusations of self-indulgence, if I cackle heartily with my telling, it is my time, and worthy spent. I can […]
November 8, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
4 ‘So what did you speak of?’ I asked. Later that day. ‘To my brother’s daughter, the future kingdom’s keeper?’ He asked. ‘Yes.’ I blushed. He smiled. ‘Do not answer me with such down-castness boy. ‘Did we speak of you?’ You must ask. And yes, we did so.’ ‘Then what did you say?’ Tell me! […]
November 7, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
A coach came, flourishing the dust from the ground. Our feet, and the horses hooves, had been too few enough to let our passing escape a dust-cloud’s notice. And the farmers here, surrounding, would never have paid that road much notice, not while the summer’s Sun, responsible for these dry-banks—where winter would make us a […]
November 4, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
‘My father,’ to laugh at this. ‘He is an instrument maker. Though sometimes, when pressed he sung to people, out-with his tune.” ‘Badly I take it?’ He made me feel as a small child wandering down lost, narrow roads. And forever would—he made me mapless. ‘No. Not really. He taught me to sing.’ ‘And you […]
November 3, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
2 As the deer Sun, starting her daily discipline denied for herself that repast at the shores of night. She in her searching, rose. There-in doing so, raising us all. Begun those muttered and lilting lines that the birds would continue throughout that day. As always, and a little behind the tune, Dalsarion awoke. ~~~~~ […]
November 2, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
They were all very silent, still, as Dalis eased himself back to the uncertain ground. He looked at them, tried to meet their faces. Though they would not meet him, one for one they would meet each other’s look. What would they say to that? Then quietly and from the back, one hand was held […]
November 1, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
“’Now I’ll tell the story of Young Hero Sir Dalis, and of the time he beat the One-Hundred Goblin Horde with but One-Thousand Words. Alone. Now Sir Dalis was a fair lad, and he quested in Golden armour for the Singing Golden Bough, with his Golden sword. In these travels he made, Young Hero Sir […]
October 31, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
Quick note before the end of October. I’m not going to be posting any of my usual work this November, but instead editing my verse novel The Song of Dalsarion (see previous post.) Hopefully you’ll all love it just as much! 😀 Your regular posts will return for December. Paul
platform thing 
November 11, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
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