Painting (Remove filter)
Rooftops (for Bruno Cordati)
The worst of the front was that trickle of rain
down the neck. Wet through, it felt like liberation.
And lice. Home on leave, people shunned him in trains.
Walled, hilltop village of his childhood:
as another war came, he returned to Barga.
Saw himself as immobile, a tree spreading roots.
When the Germans briefly retook his village
one self-portrait was damaged. The ...
Saturday 21st January 2012 5:51 pm
Recent Comments
Manish Singh Rajput on Love Song
18 minutes ago
Manish Singh Rajput on Whispers of winter
22 minutes ago
Manish Singh Rajput on The Evolution Within
25 minutes ago
Bethany Sallis on Haiku; illegal loggers.
4 hours ago
R A Porter on Bungalow Dreaming
7 hours ago
prakhar dhama on The indefinite sentence
8 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Treacherous Tattoo
9 hours ago
Landi Cruz on The indefinite sentence
10 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on FOLLY'S FOOL
10 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on FOG at SEA
10 hours ago