owlsongsandgoblinlaughs:

talkingpiffle:

sandovers:

sandovers:

talkingpiffle:

Late-night thought: modern-day Lord Peter would be into Leonard Cohen the way canon Peter is into Donne.

My lady can sleep
Upon a handkerchief
Or if it be Fall
Upon a fallen leaf.

I have seen the hunters
kneel before her hem
Even in her sleep
She turns away from them.

The only gift they offer
Is their abiding grief
I pull out my pockets
For a handkerchief or leaf.

I stopped to listen, but he did not come. I begain again with a sense of loss. As this sense deepened I heard him again. I stopped stopping and I stopped starting, and I allowed myself to be crushed by ignorance. This was a strategy, and didn’t work at all. Much time, years were wasted in such a minor mode. I bargain now. I offer buttons for his love. I beg for mercy. Slowly he yields. Haltingly he moves toward his throne. Reluctantly the angels grant to one another permission to sing. In a transition so delicate it cannot be marked, the court is established on beams of golden symmetry, and once again I am a singer in the lower choirs, born fifty years ago to raise my voice this high, and no higher.

Poem 50 from “Book of Mercy”

#the vibe is: #erotic theology (via @thebridgesandtunnels)

#sacred? profane? which box do i tick? [cry on page until all is paper pulp = both boxes ticked] (via @harrietvane)