That night the light was slow A faint glimmer before a brighter burn. The singed green shade twisting in the faint breeze mouthed through half open windows. I’d got up, too hot to sleep, too tired really, for those ends of things that tangle a mind’s late thoughts when a moth traced the vagueness at…
dedicated to my nice Romanian friend Vasile The ink The ink flows I write for you and I confess The truth is We meet Two beautiful heart Two beautiful soul Together we compose The best of poems The post We Meet | Mónika Tóth appeared first on Best Poetry Online. Go to Source Author: Best…
Life is suffering is the first of the Buddhist Noble Truths. The fourth Noble truth—there is a path that leads to the end of suffering. I thought about that a lot the last month when trying to find that fourth path. Suffering might not be the right word—maybe I should simply say, worrying. All I…
“6.58: Manifesto” by Andrea Peña, identity mode #1. Photo © Lian Benoit Carreau du Temple, the renovated former rag market set in the Marais just behind République, celebrates its 10th year next week. It has been successfully using events such as Festival Every Body, sophisticated art, culture and fitness programs to build an accessible, quality…
Letter to Violi from Prospect Heights This week the wind picked up something crazy, ripped inside my coat on Sixth Ave. I got so ticked I growled, fuck you wind! Some old women whirled around, looked at me with prim mouths. As ever, Paul, I offend. Now it’s night on Vanderbilt and the café…
Without wings I sit, high in the palm of the tree, looking down on earth beneath where others walk. I would fly away as snow drops but the white chastity of winter spreads around the landscape until it is lost. And what have I found here? A perch above that which is taken. The post…
Without wings I sit, high in the palm of the tree, looking down on earth beneath where others walk. I would fly away as snow drops but the white chastity of winter spreads around the landscape until it is lost. And what have I found here? A perch above that which is taken. The post…
Paris I’ve never visited only the uncanny wind whispered how a city was embattled with ashes coming out of a theatre. Where music thundered to heart beats where men sieged a house set it on fire immolated a lost civilization, and meanings of life, beauty, love were left smouldering, in ashes of ruin. Where politics…
Jul 10, 2011 http://inspiredwordnyc.blogspot.com/ Poet David Shapiro @ The Inspired Word’s Big Apple BAP: NYC’s Best American Poetry Poets, Thursday, June 16, 2011, @ One and One Bar/Restaurant, Nexus Lounge, Manhattan, NYC. David Shapiro is an American poet, literary critic, and art historian. He has written some twenty volumes of poetry, literary, and art…
Shuffled Marbles Old men don’t care who they talk to, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed: they’ll say to a stranger stepped into the elevator, so, where are you going today, or absorbed in a monologue, they’ll turn suddenly to you as if you’d been there all the time: these meaningless contorts from the…
