’dáːvɪ́d ’wɪ́ɡɡə́nz- forth unto the wode, bbs
@wordingway.bsky.social
1.9K followers 890 following 3.5K posts

∴ whykeeper, cloud-counter, woods-wanderer, thought alchemist, syllable-monger, gnosis-smith, hill to hollow howler ∴ my 🌿✍️+📸 https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:qlrawgvpugjumfzc3es6lpoi/feed/aaacejl3hrmfi 🔗🌳 https://linktr.ee/davidwiggins .. more

David Wiggins is an English moral philosopher, metaphysician, and philosophical logician working especially on identity and issues in meta-ethics.

Source: Wikipedia
Philosophy 30%
Political science 14%
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wordingway.bsky.social
∴ salted caramel
honestly, it’s research
smelling beignets
·
skeletal verve shook
crumbs tempt the edges of will
i inch closer still ∴

#vss365 #haikufeels #daughtersbreakfast #senryu #beignet

Reposted by David Wiggins

jennygaitskell.bsky.social
finding seeds
amongst the stubble
next summer's skylarks

#DailyHaikuPrompt (straw)

wordingway.bsky.social
no worries then— i gotchu! 🤐

your words instantly reminded me of an old friend, years ago, dubbing me the きにしないで (ki ni shinaide, “no worries”) guy 😆

thanks for the encouragement with my writing ✌️🙏

Reposted by David Wiggins

pippilngstkg.bsky.social
thoughts, swept away—

in a waterfall's thundering verve
a cauldron of swirling froth

i inhale, pausing
reflect on the tranquil currents

meandering around rocks
settling in a tranquil sun-dappled pool

distillation of experiences,
we know the work, the art of stillness

silver breath rising —
10/10 morning walk- a shaded waterfall settling in tranquil pool of dappled light

Reposted by David Wiggins

sanjar.bsky.social
The primeval dirge of change.

#7syllablesentence #dirge #blueskypoets #zen #sunset #photography

Reposted by David Wiggins

marcialynnpaul.bsky.social
MARKS

Brave write instance of
strokes, cursive on whispering
leaves, fatigued fingers.
With verve, expressed promises
in the wind. Her life’s oeuvre

#vss365 #verve
#emoetry #fatigued
#blueskyrelay #oeuvre
#2wordprompt #write #instance
#OurPoetryX #whisperingleaves
#moonmystic #promises_in_the_wind

Reposted by David Wiggins

plinkfm.bsky.social
I’m left-handed & cannot #write in spiral bound notebooks as efficiently as in soft cover ones. In the age of typewriters, telex machines & landlines, I had a #leather bound 8x5 notebook for my notes. Even though that #instance in time is long gone, I can still refer to it.
#vssdaily #2wordprompt

Reposted by David Wiggins

ravenbranhard.bsky.social
primped in moss bed
mushroom caps tilt and sway
pulling at the moon

Image: OpenArt.com

Reposted by David Wiggins

sunblissful.bsky.social
Hollow/ed hours
heave heaviness
heatedly howling
harnessed hows
hope hovers

#Poetry

Reposted by David Wiggins

ravenbranhard.bsky.social
coffee’s bitter bliss
and the sweetness of her lips
set my heart racing

#Photography Albert Ibars
@albert-ibars.bsky.social Aaa

Reposted by David Wiggins

jennfel.bsky.social
sun-catcher the verve of a hummingbird’s wing
#vss365 #monoku

wordingway.bsky.social
📸 👏👏👏

too many choose from but… 🤔 the finale of Sibelius’ 5th Symphony? 🤓

Reposted by David Wiggins

wolftwinthomas.bsky.social
each fern unfurls
a slower version
of my breath
#haiku #poetry

Reposted by David Wiggins

saintghost.bsky.social
For #PoemsAbout #ImperfectMe

for @thebrokenspine.co.uk
& @alanparrywriter.co.uk

I apologize for the ungodly length and extend my sincerest gratitude to everyone who still endeavors to read it. Thank you.
Mirror, Mirror 

A spell gone wrong. The fairy godmother quit,
left the fire for a cigarette break. My dress is as chintzy 
as lollipop shivers, as cheap as no-fucks-given first love
and even that I could never afford. A broom dressed 
in a rag, owl-grown on eyelash wishes. A wish
is something my heart makes when you sing
about how the light weeps through the gauze
of the leaves when it falls, like a prayer 
through stained glass, or a girl’s head through the open
mouth of her mother’s medicine cabinet. We all know 
that things are purified by their falling, by how low 
they can go before they snap. A wish is the insistence
to fall like this just a little bit longer, to sweeten the pulp
of my ruin once I collapse into smoke. A dream, however,
is a different beast: A dream is something tenebrous
that lives in the fractures and marrows, that comes for me
like a gorge of gray wolves, ubiquitous and bigger than a life, 
or a couldn’t, or a death. It makes me think about your teeth, 
how they tear a signature of grief into my wrist, how I mistook
a maw for a sparrow’s beak, and blood for godly devotion. 
You ask what has touched me without leaving
a bruise. Nothing. The brittle hair brown as the mud-
crested belly of a fox, hunted, tangled in lilac
and bramble, keeping watch over what remains of us
and what doesn’t when no one is looking too close. 
Rings of salt around my eyes where at midnight the crows
come and pick apart the waning embers
until things lose their focus and become mercurial
rivulets of maybe and fever. The olanzapine body,
fed too sad on gingerbread and delusions; the one
that I carry like a coffin or that in turn shoulders me
like a cross, because it has to, because it knows
no other way. The flesh-simmering hunger
to be not only seen but felt. That deaf violent resistance
to any threat or touch of disenchantment. And there it is,
the seam that is always giving, where the doctor did
his stitches like someone drunk on the moon. Touch it:
It tells a cicatrized story, one that the sortilege of speaking
could not. I am not only an imperfection but a curse, baptized
in a river’s edge that knows neither map nor ending. 
Lids and lips dusted with a summoning of need the color 
of last year’s rotten apples; as if there was a ballroom I was going to 
instead of a padded cell, as if I had lost a shoe of glass
instead of my agency and sense of self.

All this sorcery, just for that one moment.

Because you promised me an elsewhere and another
time, where truth was untrue and real was only a word
that held as much weight as a twig. Where I could go
and be not prophecy but promise; peach, plum, and palms unread
but understood in the unutterable language of fate. 
Where I could be held by a world that does not ask of me
to prove it. But you just made me up, didn’t you, divined my name
in some lapse of reason amidst seal-skinned sirens and antlered
hares. Something to rain away the hours, insubstantial and hidden 
behind the veil of absurdity. I come alive in your glimpse only,
in that one wisp of splintered impossibility
and just as soon as you close your eyes, all my fake
bones shatter and crumble. 

Looking back, I will then be made to wonder
if I have ever been really here at all. 
Did I die or did I vanish
or did you just forget to continue to have faith
in my fabled existence, in the frailty of my 
mythology?

Because nothing’s more fatal to a dream
than those who do not believe in it.

Reposted by David Wiggins

saintghost.bsky.social
misty garden light
the rabbits are wearing
raincoats of dead leaves

#haiku
#DailyHaikuPrompt

Reposted by David Wiggins

rachelnewcombe8.bsky.social
When my zest

runs

l
o
w

you always step in

to share your verve.

#vss365 #verve

wordingway.bsky.social
∴ libertines haze
fools flock for hollow thrones
the self-anointed
·
mad mouths mutter
mustered mandates ~ felle masses
lotus lanterns bloom ∴

#vss365 #haikufeels #bethelotus #haiku #senryu #poemspell #naturephotography #flowers #avidya #bodhicitta
lotus @ Kenilworth Park & Aquatic Gardens