You always tell me: you are incredibly idealistic when you love all people equally, trees and flowers, animals, without concealing them with the cloak of inequality, when you are admiring what it is worthy of praises, without the worm of jealousy eating you whole, when you do not harm anybody and the waves of evil …
Idealistic/Idealist | Cornelia Păun Heinzel Read More »
The post Idealistic/Idealist | Cornelia Păun Heinzel appeared first on Best Poetry.
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After my mother’s death, her belongings devitalized Her furniture: tables and chairs in a secondhand store Her flatware; somewhat less than service for eight Her clothes: just rags in some cartons for Goodwill Floating lifeless amputated from person place time All wrapped up with some flowers, and a plain pine box A graveside ceremony, a…
Geese were flying south for the winter. honking along the way, promising to return again someday. The post Geese Headed South | Mary Bone appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online
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Take this out, this spite, this hatred, this venom, take out those guns, don’t spit fire in a messy world, talk to the child, ever so mildly, wrench books out of hand oh unforgiving masters, dispense with justice, don’t split the atom, talk about disarmament in closeted rooms sign papers and let the table talk…
The post from After the Wild Iris by Iris McCloughan appeared first on The Poetry Project. Go to Source Author: The Poetry Project
What the Streets Look Like Mom: the sweet rotted summer stench still taps the nasal cavity inside breezes several times per block. I have a greater empathy for pigeons after two months at work in the unnatural country, & find it instinctively nerve- wracking to remove my wallet from its pocket here in town despite…
