Where I Lay My Roots

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
That I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can't reach.
With my senses, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
in the ponds broken off from the sky
my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.

 

 

Moving Forward, by Rainer Maria Rilke

via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Grey Blue vintage coat: my mother's from the early 70s, Wallis

Floral skinny jeans: bought in a charity shop, originally from Topshop

Blue jumper: handed down from my best friend

Blue t-shirt underneath: from H&M

Red cowboy boots: bought from R Soles from the Kings Road about 13 years ago

Vintage navajo earrings: from a car boot sale in the 90s

 

Old mohair snood: from Topshop

 

Jewelled gloves: a present I gave granny Penny a few years before she died

 

 

 

The Soundtrack

 

Alt J: An Awesome Wave

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

 

Patchwork

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We will survive - you see time heals wounds.

We will meet - light is the same on all...

Alive or dead, sober or drunk -

once again you will be my love.

Like damp grass, like grey-blue air,

like my own dying in my dream,

like the sea shore with the stone cornice

of the wave, like the solitary light at the window.

Like the wind at night loves the bottom of the ravine.

like that camel loves the eye of the needle,

like the body the final shirt

apart from which there is nothing.

And I will come to in the madhouse or the grave,

in this world or the next,

where wings rumpled in handshakes

will close secretly behind your shoulder.

And no, sadness is not a shadow, but a butterfly

of the night, whose flesh the mirrors multiply,

and it bursts the cobweb

and struggles down and floats then

to the cold flower of the table lamp,

and it is no more: the glass has melted.

You will realise that you are alone,

and that you yourself have been talking to yourself for a long time.

 

 

Without Addressee by Katia Kapovich,

from the anthology Poet for Poet edited by Richard McKane.

more from Katia here via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

 

Flower panelled dress: from Oxfam online

 

Vintage 70s striped panelled skirt: my mother's

Black wool cardigan: charity shop

Blue belt: very old, from Topshop
 

Bracelets: late granny Penny's

 

Daffodils: from the garden, tight buds outside in the cold, their flowers open when we bring them indoors

 

Patchwork bedspread made from vintage material: made by late granny Kiki for me when she was in her 80s. It includes scraps of material from her couturier days, and also leftover fabric from her own and my mother's wedding dresses.

 

The Soundtrack:

 

Rimsky Korsakov: Scheherazade op.35



Photographs taken by me using the self timer on my little digital camera

The Path Home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They say it is waiting for more, the snow

Shrunk up to the shadow-line of walls

In an arctic smouldering, an unclean salt,

And will not go until the frost returns

Sharpening the stars, and the fresh snow falls

Piling its drifts in scallops, furls. I say

Snow has left its own white geometry

To measure out for the eye the way

The land may lie where a too cursory reading

Discovers only dip and incline leading

To incline, dip, and misses the fortuitous

Full variety a hillside spreads for us:

It is written here in sign and exclamation,

Touched-in contour and chalk-followed fold,

Lines and circles finding their completion

In figures less certain, figures that yet take hold

On features that would stay hidden but for them:

Walking, we waken these at every turn,

Waken ourselves, so that our walking seems

To rouse some massive sleeper out of winter dreams

Whose stretching startles the whole land into life,

As if it were us the cold, keen signs were seeking

To pleasure and remeasure, repossess

With a sense in the gathered coldness of heat and height.

Well, if it's for more the snow is waiting

To claim back into disguisal overnight,

As though it were promising a protection

From all it has transfigured, scored and bared,

Now we shall know the force of what resurrection

Outwaits the simplification of the snow.

 

 

Snow Signs by Charles Tomlinson, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

 

 

Faux Sheepskin coat: very old, from Morgan de Toi

 

 

Silver velvet dress, seen as a skirt: bought from Monsoon when I was about 16

 

 

Black faux fur cardigan coat: very old from the high street

 

 

Faux wolf fur shawl: from an ex boyfriend

 

 

Red faux leather gloves: a gift from a friend

 

 

Wellies underneath: Hunter, via ebay

 

The Soundtrack

Nick Cave: Your Funeral My Trial 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

Unfortunately I've been unwell this last week, so I'm very behind on reading all your latest posts. I promise to drop by again very soon!

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

I Carry Your Heart With Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

 

 

 

poem by e. e.cummings, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit (just seen)

 

Faux sheepskin and wool jacket: from Oxfam Online

 

Shoulder Strap Satchel: very old from H&M

 

 

 

The Soundtrack

 

The sea waves

 

 

 

All photographs taken by me, using my digital camera, in the days before I had this blog.

 

Happy Valentine's day! Love is love, whether romantic, familial or friendship in form: we all have people in our lives whose hearts we hold dear. To me Valentine's day is a celebration of all these forms of love, each deeply important and necessary to me.

And most of all it is an appreciation of the man I love, he.

 

 

 

 

Snow Parasol

 

 

“ In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them.
In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is!
In autumn, the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one's heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects.
In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season's mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes.” 

by Sei Shōnagon, from The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Black daisy wrap dress: Celia Birtwell for Topshop, via ebay

 

Vintage 70s blue dress: from ebay

 

Blue floral skirt worn as petticoat: New Look, very old

 

Vintage 30s fur cape: made by late granny Kiki for Kiki Couture

 

 

Pale blue jewelled gloves: a christmas gift I gave to late granny Penny years ago

 

 

Vintage Chinese paper and wood parasol: from late granny Kiki

 

 

Pink hoop earrings: gift from a friend

 

 

Black wellies: Hunter, via ebay 

The Soundtrack

 

Of Monsters & Men: My Head Is An Animal 

 

 

Photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

 

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

 

Without & Within

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet – we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favour,
The light ring of your silver spurs...      

 

Along the hard crust of deep snows by Anna Akhamatova,

via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

    Faux Leopard fur trim jumper: from ebay

 

Harem denim trousers: from H&M years ago

 

Faux fur boots: New Look, very old

 

Vintage 40s/50s fur coat: from Granny Penny 

 

The Soundtrack

 

The Lumineers:  The Lumineers

Photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

 

Sorry I've been remiss at visiting blogs this week, since the snow thawed work has has been unusually busy - indeed you could say I've been snowed under teehee - but I'm looking forward to popping by all your lovely blogs again very soon!