Poem: Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive (stamped on these lifeless things)
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of this colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry

Here are a few images from my latest book/zine, The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry. it's been a poem that's interested me for a long time, so I enjoyed doing it. :) Thanks to everyone who bought a copy at the zine fair, particularly Fehmida, who gave it a great review on her blog. <3

 I'd encourage you all to read the story, or - better still - listen to it sung as a ballad (it really is beautiful). Or, y'know, you could buy a copy of my book. ;) But maybe that's a topic for another blog entry, eh?

Poem: "The Eagle"

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Poem: "Saint Francis and the Birds"

I'm not especially religious, but I find religions and their stories very interesting. I also enjoy poems, and I liked this one by Seamus Heaney so I decided, as a quick exercise, to illustrate it.



Saint Francis and the Birds

When Francis preached love to the birds
They listened, fluttered, throttled up
Into the blue like a flock of words

Released for fun from his holy lips.
Then wheeled back, whirred about his head,
Pirouetted on brothers’ capes,

Danced on the wing, for sheer joy played
And sang, like images took flight.
Which was the best poem Francis made,

His argument true, his tone light.

—- Seamus Heaney