Alice Stainer
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alicestainer.bsky.social
Alice Stainer
@alicestainer.bsky.social
790 followers 220 following 190 posts
Poet; lecturer; Victorianist; singer; Scottish dancer; nature lover; wine or tea, that is the question; the sea, the sea; land of the mountain & the flood.
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alicestainer.bsky.social
Ha! OK, so we can have a transatlantic twilight tipple together, here's my poem. Less of a party atmosphere, I think, but the kind of quiet #bliss that suits me 🥰 #PromptCombo @dragonslayerma.bsky.social
Night Spirit If you are, like me, a daughter of the dark¬, at home in the silk velvets of latenightedness and soundtracked by the spheres, then this is the cocktail for you: 1. One measure of sky-sloe gin fragrant and soul-black. 2. Sweeten with Venus just after sundown. 3. Add a zingy splash of Aurora Borealis and a fizz of meteors. 4. Shake well before dawn then serve over crushed comet-cubes. 5. Garnish with a sprig of the Pleiades and a slice of iced moon. Alice Stainer
May 28, 2025 at 4:43 PM
alicestainer.bsky.social
Dipping a first-time tentative toe into the waters of #PromptCombo, this week hosted by the very welcoming @dragonslayerma.bsky.social on the theme of #Bliss. So here is one of mine on the theme (originally appeared in @dustpoetry.bsky.social Joy issue) Thanks everybody - hope I've done this right!
Nostos France was crottins from the pantry sidling off the plate, a little bluer every day, raw milk freshly foaming in bowls of chocolat chaud and the chewy puce of donkey saucisson. It was myrtilles tumbling into buckets, purpling hands and tongues for a latticed work of tarte, sirop de menthe at altitude as we surveyed iced peaks from the parasolled terrace of a refuge. It was picnics breathing hot spice of broom, sawing baguettes and spreading La Vache qui rit – though, edging past a Charolais bull as Dad strode through its herd, I had my doubts about that. France was drowsy afternoon abricots, Mum’s face upturned to the sun like a deprived tournesol; later her proud productions over camping gaz – Madame Dolly’s biftek haché and haricots verts. Oh, it was glorious gastronomie! But watching it recede from the ferry’s white deck, then ploughing back across a restless channel, we three thrilled at the promise of fish and chips on Weymouth prom. Three little maids on a seaside bench, legs a-dangle, we’d unwind the paper, savouring chunk and crunch and nip of salt, and gaze out across the darkening sea, threaded lamps twinkling and bobbing in the twilight. Alice Stainer 
May 28, 2025 at 10:07 AM