Author: sarah_figlio1

Darkness Calls

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town,       And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls; The little waves,… Continue reading Darkness Calls

Crossed Apple

The Crossed Apple I’ve come to give you fruit from out my orchard, Of wide report. I have trees there that bear me many apples. Of every sort:Clear, streaked; red and russet; green and golden; Sour and sweet. This apple’s from a tree yet unbeholden, Where two kinds meet,— So that this side is red… Continue reading Crossed Apple

Añjali Mudrā

Añjali Mudrā, ©2011-13. Oil, wax on canvas.

Published
Categorized as painting

Where Playthings Come Alive

Where Playthings Come Alive, ©2013. Altered Photo. Foreign Lands Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad in foreign lands. I saw the next door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had… Continue reading Where Playthings Come Alive

The Strange Woods

The Strange Woods ©2013. Photo The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we’ve hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of the reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the… Continue reading The Strange Woods

The Caterpillar

Fairyland, ©2013. Photo The Caterpillar Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray, I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions, Daisies, old-man’s-looking-glasses; Rooks flap croaking across the lane. I eat and swallow and eat again. Here come raindrops helter-skelter; I munch and nibble… Continue reading The Caterpillar

On Noses

Nose Grower, ©2013. Why, O Prime Mover of Noses, why Do our noses grow longer, our lives shorter, Why during the night should these fleshly lumps, Like vampires or suction-pumps, Drain us dry? from The Nose,  Andrei Voznesensky, Antiworlds translated by W.H. Auden http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1966/apr/14/five-poems-by-andrei-voznesensky/?pagination=false

A Week of Faces

Disconsolate Chimera, 2010-13. Oil, wax on canvas.

Published
Categorized as painting