Friday, December 28, 2012

Shells. Can a poem be contained?

Oysters, mussels, clams, abalone -- consider their shells. What gifts contained on the half-shell.

Consider the voice as a shell offering fresh, sweetmeats.

Food and words are ever so personal. Indeed aren't they?

Yes, the last blog for 2012 begins & ends with oysters, as in While Eating Oysters.

1 comment:

  1. And if we should again meet on the boulevard of incalculable time spent and a mean axis is spinning then perhaps remind me of the weathered inscription on the last of the cornerstones we agreed to inspect?

    As I recall mixed in with cement and grizzly paste were the small outlines of several shells from a nearby beach, not adding strength or substance but the idea of beauty, form, restless centuries, eternal seas, the smallness of creatures and the physical nature of our universe.

    Untouched these hints are still there, and unheralded these fragments remain, with or without us, somehow part of our cellular history, reappearing as chalk or dust or cosmic particles, worthy of reflection, I think you would agree?

    So it was good of you to talk of oysters, and good of you to say that as gifts, their empty shells are equally divine.