new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
You've put me in mind of these stone angels, trapped forever in petrified animation. Suspended in the act of not falling out of the sky.
Wonderful! The voice of what Jung called the Puer—aloft in ethereal longings....
Tom,The link to your fine poem reminded me that angels—even those cast in stone—can come alive at even the slightest touch; I also relished Lamb’s devilish skewering of Coleridge’s angels. Thanks for both of these.Joe,Ah, yes—those wonderful ethereal longings—as long as you don’t overdo it, like Icarus! :>)Thanks for the kind word about the poem.