Littles

Three happy discoveries for Saturday:

ONE, there are some songs that never stop cheering you up. Possibly it’s not cool to love The Feeling, these days, but I still hear this and get all unstoppably jolly.

 

TWO, if tiny poems of perfection are your thing, then you should look at 17 beats (thanks to Peonies and Polaroids for directing me there this morning). This woman can do in fifteen words what I can’t do in five hundred. Look at ‘time machine’, ‘a metaphor, mostly’, ‘when a banana asks you on a date’ or ‘infant milestones’, to begin with. Or this. Look at this.

Moses

he enters the train.
he is regal, his head high.
from his neck and chin

springs forth a mighty
beard of matted coils, dense and
black. he has no shoes.

broken bags cover
his broken feet, but he walks
with Grace and Purpose.

he parts the crowd, a
sea of judgement and contempt, and
stands beside the door.

from 17 beats

Argh, it’s so good it hurts.

 

THREE, boy and cardigan and IKEA meatballs and mugging for camera. Too much.

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