Of The Ghosted Sought: an excerpt

Halo fronds, here is an excerpt from a long poem I am currently working on (Of The Ghosted Sought: A Fifteenfold Binding Of The Angléshun Language Demon). I wrote it all yesterday, which might make it my most sustained attempt at a wRiting yet: 15 poems of 15 lines with 15 syllables each. A taster from the end of part one...

Of The Ghosted Sought:
A Singular Event Never Happened.

May this location now fold itself into every other:
The same jewel is the heart of the most cynical magic
& the most plaintive of cries: I am my very own disguise!

First I will put my foot in your still unfurling depression:
A touch that never will be forgotten, though the grass will spring
up again when I am gone; then I will lift my other foot
into the air & that space will become the first of my stairs.

Then I will begin to climb, & with every step shall the world
become more wearisome: Birds will fall from the sky, the flowers
will wither & die, your torched earth will go out, like a stifled
scream or an underwater shout, deep boom of the easily---

all too easily absorbed. When all is dead still beneath me
shall I steal the leap from life itself & throw my body
off, & throw it off again & again & again, until
my way is untraceable: Then shall I allow the last line.


Of The Ghosted Sought:
The End Of One Part Wiz Plotted With Wholes.

To begin at the beginning: We must first declare an end.
Here it is then. Give it your name & be done with clever games.
Only once you are out the way can things never be the same
again. Only if you stay yourself can we become what's next.

This is the mode in which we step beyond fantasy without
becoming unduly embroiled within the sticky threads
of the spaceless spider's unreal confusion. Practise this
impossible focus upon your own fearless fears:

You are not, never have been, nor ever will be the only
Ones here. Certain plurals must remain ever their singular
selves. So wake in your own rainbow shells & let us slowly
slime together towards the unwordable goal of our
intragalactic transcentre. Is this knot not our planet?
Impossible topologies of dislocation are home
to such outlandish stories we never could imagine them...


Of The Ghosted Sought:
A Menagerie Of Quintessences.


A visit from Lórien, an orphaned young hare, or leveret, whom we raised.
A visit from Lórien, an orphaned young hare, or leveret, whom we raised.


This article was updated on April 11, 2021

Sam Knot

I am a poet and illustrator, originally from the south of England, now living in an old stone house in the middle of the countryside in Normandy, France, with my lovely wife and an assortment of other creatures. Thank you kindly for checking out my work, please don't hesitate to get in touch: iam (at) "this website".