https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/category-1044-fields en 2005-2012 shakespearesmonekys@gmail.com 42.65593 -71.33391 Tue, 09 Jun 2026 13:09:45 GMT yacs http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss 70 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8612-veil-of-wind-and-other-garments https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8612-veil-of-wind-and-other-garments   It was too late for sleeping~ the night dressed in cold leaves shook loose the reins of wind from my hand, we flew green shadows through a loom of trees, the moon, a stalk of silver wove white hooves, in fields of stars collapsing in dawn's arms, But we, beyond the branches of all reckless heaven's reach, fed our wingless hearts to echoes of vast beauty's endless doom.   Celticlion Loom Thu, 15 May 2008 11:04:36 GMT /section-579-loom#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/8612 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/8612 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A8612 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8457-found-in-fields-of-grass https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8457-found-in-fields-of-grass A woman is haunted by memories of her lover Celticlion Poetry Sat, 03 May 2008 00:01:43 GMT /section-566-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/8457 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/8457 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A8457 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8158-recitative https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8158-recitative   The wind whispers, I am a cold darkness, you cannot keep me, my fingers never close but blow within locks, an unwinding thread of Earth's infancy, I will gather the fabric of seas, and wrinkle fields, I will breathe soft stitches in the skin of clouds, pulling them behind, chariots billowing above the beasts I quicken, I will unrest the sleep of your forest's peace, my silver tongue tasting, what hides within broken branches of your mind, the pulp of your heart scattered, with splintered leaves, I will rattle dust, making sleeves of music, whipping the throat of night, making her cry for me, so that I might console each shadow's ear, with my soft sympathy. ... more Celticlion Poetry Sat, 26 Apr 2008 14:15:32 GMT /section-566-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/8158 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/8158 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A8158