top of page
Search

Gripscapes

  • Writer: The Red Wheelbarrow Poetry
    The Red Wheelbarrow Poetry
  • Aug 23, 2021
  • 1 min read

Norman Morrissey


I mostly know a truth

By a sense of something slipping me –

Fin-glint and a cold-muscled

Gripscaped touch –

And I’m left to carefully ponder out

The shape-clues of my fist.


1979-11-17


Featured on 8 July 2021


 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
The Little Yellow House

Phelelani Makhanya There is a little yellow house at the corner of the street, where the jacaranda has painted the paving purple. Every...

 
 
 
Naughty Greens

Basil du Toit The rude vegetables are up to no good again, succumbing to irresistible inflations, their growth-tips, tautly congested,...

 
 
 
Evening Song (Durban)

Ari Sitas After a day of stoning and gas an ancient chore beckons by the ocean’s lip - a crowd heaving, heaving, sifting through the sand...

 
 
 

Comentários


Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page