For breakfast I eat up my vowels, my a e i o u, to which I add from consonants a fricative or two;
After that I move my bowels then write as poets do, and frequently am quite surprised to feel a trill come through.

Saturday, 19 March 2011


Thread after thread 
The spider unreeling them
Constantly spins with them 
Spinning his web.

In eight-legged pyjamas
He spins and he stitches
Nice little nightgowns
For flies of fine thread.

Measures them, dresses them,

Tucks them to bed,
Then says thanksgiving 
For his daily bread,

And then... Ah, well then... 
That’s when he tucks into them! 
A spinner, a tailor,
Well busy, well fed.

A little bit of Turkish: Sinek (Fly - also, the suit of Clubs in a pack of playing cards)
Sinek küçüktur, ama mide bulandirir.
The fly is small, but it can upset the stomach.

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