Of Glass & Paper

Sisyphus47's writing blog



Hannah Silva – Forms of Protest


Forms of Protest…

Originally posted on Dave Poems.:

Full disclosure: Have seen Silva perform live once. She was pretty great!

Review: Silva’s poems are unlike anything I’ve read. As the video above (and this podcast, absolutely required listening) demonstrate, Silva’s physical voice is central to her aesthetic, removing it a huge risk; the formal aspect of the work is an integral part of the complicated and angry messages that the poems present. Her background in music, theatre and sound poetry inform Forms of Protest from the foundations up, and that the poems’ technical intricacy and often dispassionate removes are transferable to the page at all is a remarkable achievement. That so many successfully convey their political anger and emotional precision is a large part of what makes Forms of Protest a valuable book.

3 KS

The poems themselves are remarkable for the relative absence of the poetic ego. Only one poem, a startlingly frank snapshot of adolescent life at…

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#AtoZAprilChallenge: Yesterday

Science may one day shatter the mystery of time, and with time, most of our delusions. When was yesterday? And why should today, tomorrow, be different from yesterday? As often, the answer to such questions is better found in poetry.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
oh, I believe in yesterday
Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be
There’s a shadow hanging over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly

Why she had to go?
I don’t know, she wouldn’t say
I said something wrong
Now I long for yesterday

Yesterday love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Why she had to go?
I don’t know, she wouldn’t say
I said something wrong
Now I long for yesterday

Yesterday love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh, I believe in yesterday.


Published by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

#WritersWednesday ~ Feiern

Paris, 1934We celebrate

The fire is burning

Chasing away the demons

Deep in the shadows…

You come so close –

And again,


On the wings of the night,

Peaceful moon

To rest

In those arms

That cannot stretch…




Ich, wir.

Image: Fred Stein, source:

#FWF Free Write Friday: Beautiful People

Tell me about a beautiful person you know…


Medieval Virgin Thin wrists, smile of a medieval Virgin,

Heart broken so many times ~

Who knows where the Enemy now lies…

In your secret fold

Is forever the Truth…

Morning poetish thoughts and paint


A place to rest…

Originally posted on Expressions of my life - An evolution of art.:


What heart yonder, falls
so gently in this field.
Soft as Lilly petals and
sweet as jasmine
On the vine.

Such gentle curves give
The soul a place to rest
The mind a place to race
And the heart a home all it’s own

With the voice of an angel
Does she call my name from
The night sky.
Scribed by stars with auroras
robe to warm her silken wings.

How can one smile
One gentle touch
Give the heart
Such murmur and rested peace



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The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Writer


“The world was now dimmed, a shallow island of light floating in a vast darkness, even though it was noon…” ~ Lunar Park

Originally posted on findingtimetowrite:

Our heads contain worlds. Or is it just the one over and over?

People pop out to smoke cigarettes,

simper, gossip, fuck and pray.

Maggotty ideas fester – let them die –

voices assault us daily.

What is real I cannot say.

He’s tried to flirt with the mainstream.

His world always out of kilter

at an angle only he can measure,

drumming beats no one will follow.

There is no shared vision,

yet we wish horses of belonging for us beggars.

Come inside, ladies and gents!

If only you’d discover that underneath I’m much like you,

a gentler man of erudite barbs.

One read and you’ll be captivated.

I know I’ve worked so hard for this:

how can I share that knowledge, that wonder with you?


How do you keep your balance as a creative person?  That is the question that Joe Hesch would like us to consider…

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#FiveSentenceFiction: Flowers

Alpine bells Immersed in the city we missed you, and at times, a shimmer of light in the sky, a reflection in a girl’s hair, reminded us of you.

We know that soon we will go back, to the solitary trails, to the sound of our boots on the hard rock, to the smile on her face that says: “I want to hug you at the summit”.

And there you will be, in an unexpected corner, lurking in the light, seemingly innocent: but you know how to recognise lovers who wish to flirt with the mountains, cheating the Enemy, dreaming of becoming angels…

For season after season you survive the floods, the ice, the fall of stones, the shoes of men.

For year after year we seek you, as we seek each other, in the palm of God, in the light of His Grace, where you shine, immortal.

Daily Prompt: Opposite Day

If you normally write non-fiction, post a photo. If you normally post images, write fiction. If you normally write fiction, write a poem. If you normally write poetry, draw a picture.

Opposite In your eyes I see the fire, and I,

must keep my soul steady and cold

for your judgement I fear

as much as I seek your presence

and you may enjoy mine…

The opposite we are,

as the walls of the Roman stadium are

to the bright steel and glass buildings

of our cities…

Yet the river flows and

I cannot detach my mind

from the dream…

Is it yours?


Dry tears

He had said nothing to her, neither goodbye, nor see you soon, nor adieu…” (Pauline Réage)

Chartreuse Glow


Ombre et lumière…

Originally posted on Marousia:

A chartreuse glow in a disused store,
crystalline shards of torchlight
caught on dust motes make
cubist ghosts; silent witnesses
filter the remnants of a scene.

He was tied to a chair,
two men blew smoke rings
as a flyspecked light bulb
swayed to the rumba strains
of a thirsty wind, he hoped
he’d have the courage to evade
the questions, the inevitable
probing of his marrow,
palpating a point of penetration,
offering salvation through betrayal …
A Mesphisto bargain, tell us all,
and we shall set you free,

tell us all, knowledge shall be yours,
tell us all, we shan’t harm you…

whispers in his ears

and then the blindfold
and a single shot.

He slumped, thudding
to the concrete floor,
the chartreuse glow
gleamed redly
spreading in a slick.


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