The vivacious Caroline Seebohm at Oxford, circa 1961.
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Author: The Best American Poetry
The vivacious Caroline Seebohm at Oxford, circa 1961.
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Author: The Best American Poetry
Our floor is nothing but sand, the small cottage we have rented. Turtles turn slowly on our daily walk to the beach and a serpent bathes itself in light outside. A lizard skirts along the wall. The neighbors are beside us, but barely there. Is that their daughter? In the night, as my feet pad…
Now is an illusion between there past and what’s next, now is like a line between the sand and the sea, with only sand and sea and an evanescent edge, now is a bridge between what was and will be, a momentary pause for thought and rumination, now is the time to embrace contentment, time…
Winter has a meaning In lives dark and prima facie winter is mirage of whole summers mindless days of murder in the sun That is winter repealment cathartic, bare, brittle Leaves sighing Summer dying. The mirror unforgiving The dead undying. The post Winter | Ananya S. Guha appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source…
Even the sappy Xmas music in the supermarket didn’t make me want to break something that was surprising I let my dog pee on an Xmas tree for sale somehow that me feel good am I a bad man or did the dog win? I don’t miss my Xmas rage but it always amused me…
Pink Shutters for David Trinidad Pink Shutters — Pink Shutters! Sixty-three pairs opened wide in the narrow alley as if Mao had once again proclaimed “Let a hundred windows bloom” — kiss by kiss. Shocking Pink! Pagan Pink! Milk of Magnesia and Panther Pink seductively pulling us into the air like a harem of wings…
______________________________________________________ Doc Watson on the Cicada Concert They seem to think they have something to say, those locusts high in your circle of pines. I wish they’d get tired of tuning and play. I can’t tell…