Damian: posts feature the pen and the pixel

Abdulkadir Bulut

Daffodils are planted in Anamur

Around the eaves of the old, mud-roofed houses

It’s as if, rather than houses

Each one of them

Vidyan Ravinthiran

Lord Alfred Douglas (Oscar Wilde's 'Bosie')

A treacherous monster is the Shark He never makes the least remark.

And when he sees you on the sand, He doesn’t seem to want to land.

He watches you take off your clothes, And not the least excitement shows.

His eyes do not grow bright or roll, He has astonishing self-control.

He waits till you are quite undressed, And seems to take no interest.

And when towards the sea you leap, He looks as if he were asleep.

But when you once get in his range, His whole demeanour seems to change.

He throws his body right about, And his true character comes out.

It’s no use crying or appealing, He seems to lose all decent feeling.

After this warning you will wish To keep clear of this treacherous fish.

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: Sea of Flags - Chicago mural.

Emily Dickinson

Felicity B

On Inis Mor, where the sky meets the sea I etched my love into the shore.

My witnesses: the clouds, gulls flying high, a pale sun, a caressing breeze.

I moved the sand with deep strokes, the grains sliding and slipping to reveal a beloved name. A declaration eternal, unbreakable; bittersweet, of joy and pain.

And slowly, ripples, eddies, pools, gentle waves encroached. Minute particles mixed and mingled, moving and slowly erasing the words.

Anna Johnston MacManus

The market place is all astir, The sombre streets are gay, And lo! a stately galleon Lies anchored in the Bay– The colleens shy, and sturdy lads, Are swiftly trooping down, To greet the Spanish sailors On the quay of Galway Town.

But Nora–golden Nora– What matters it to you? There's joy–long time a stranger– In those gentle eyes of blue; And wherefore deck your ringlets, And don your silken gown, For a crew of Spanish sailors That stroll through Galway Town?

Said Nora–golden Nora– And her laughter held a tear, "I don my silk and laces Because my love is near– Among the Spanish crew is one Should wear a kingly crown– Although he walks a landless man, To-day, through Galway town.

"Look forth! see yond his dusky head Tower high above the throng. Oh brave is he, and true is he, And so my lips have song; For he's no Spanish sailor, Though he wears the jerkin brown– But Murrough Og O'Flaherty, Come back to Galway Town.

"He fought in Spain's red sieges, And holds a Captain's place, Ah! would his arm were raised to strike In battles of his race! But his boyhood saw with bitter grief Iar-Connacht lose renown, When the Saxon crushed his valiant clan In the streets of Galway Town.

"To-night will be our wedding– With a holy priest to bless– Shall we remember Cromwell's law Amid such happiness? While my true love's arm is round me, Should they come with fighting frown, His sword shall cleave a pathway For his bride through Galway Town."

Then up the street stepped Murrough, And down stepped Nora Bán, Had ever sailor fairer love– Sweet, sweet as summer dawn? Their glad lips clung together– "Such bliss old grief must drown: God guard the faithful lovers," Prayed we in Galway Town.

Wallace Stevens

Who is my father in this world, in this house, At the spirit's base?

My father's father, his father's father, his— Shadows like winds

Go back to a parent before thought, before speech, At the head of the past.

They go to the cliffs of Moher rising out of the mist, Above the real,

Rising out of present time and place, above The wet, green grass.

This is not landscape, full of the somnambulations Of poetry

And the sea. This is my father or, maybe, It is as he was,