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writing with my eyes closed: The Trees.
http://poeticinterlude.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-trees.html
Writing with my eyes closed. Sunday, August 07, 2016. The sound of rain reaches my nostrils. Hope leaps forever. Tend to my cut soul. I am bleeding like a river. The river is drowning. A cat has walked across the forbidden lawn. The robot slowly takes his first step-he is like. A young actor, being reborn. The movement is slow. I am slow, too. The trees are bending in the hurricane. Palm trees, I think they are, and their leaves. Wave in the wind. Tell me, o potter, where do you go? Things Etched in Stone.
writing with my eyes closed: beginning, messed up format on word
http://poeticinterlude.blogspot.com/2016/08/beginning-messed-up-format-on-word.html
Writing with my eyes closed. Tuesday, August 30, 2016. Beginning, messed up format on word. 8220;What am I going to do,” he murmured. 8220;Not again,” Railan Lenkr groaned, and shook his head. “What are you doing, Rail? You trying to get yourself killed again? 8220;I am a wizard,” the stranger admitted. The Elder frowned. “What kind of wizard? 8221; he asked hastily. The term was frowned upon in the Western Kingdoms, specifically Hanover, Redder, and Journ. Are you a White Wizard, or a Dark Wizard? 8221;...
writing with my eyes closed: Dancing.
http://poeticinterlude.blogspot.com/2016/09/dancing.html
Writing with my eyes closed. Tuesday, September 06, 2016. Today we danced. It was wonderful. Someone in your arms, moving slowly to the music,. Letting it drain in your body, letting the waves move over. You, and the feel of your love in your arms. Then, her arms became twisted, like the trunks of a tree. That shiver in the morning light, its arms raising to the sun,. The beginning of warmth that encompasses you,. And your lover. I have found dancing is the best way to. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
writing with my eyes closed: The Night Sky.
http://poeticinterlude.blogspot.com/2016/09/the-night-sky.html
Writing with my eyes closed. Monday, September 12, 2016. In the sky, my heart flows with the stars,. Stirring at night, flying high above us. I twirl and twirl until everything spins,. Faster and faster, like the eyes of the world. You said to me, "What greatness is vast,. As the ocean itself? What patterns are immaculate? Then, a meteor appeared, so large it took over. The entire sky, and there was an eclipse,. And it was vast. The vastness was immaculate. Everything was pure. Everything grew dim.
writing with my eyes closed: How Gene Wilder Died.
http://poeticinterlude.blogspot.com/2016/08/how-gene-wilder-died.html
Writing with my eyes closed. Tuesday, August 30, 2016. How Gene Wilder Died. Deep in the gutters of forever's chance, I lie awake and waiting. For that second hit of a baseball bat coming through my window like. Fallen leaves. In time, I am not broken, and the rage does not hit. Me twice as strong as it did. My father's death was a wake up call. My mother's Alzheimer's was a mistake of reality. Nothing is forgotten. I have turned the pages of the book that I was supposed to write, but. Factory, or maybe ...
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Poetic Intent – the musings of an english major
The musings of an english major. Collaborate / Guest Post. What’s In My Backpack. Some people believe that you can tell a lot about a person by what’s in their purse, suitcase, or even backpack. In case that’s true, so what does this say about me? Continue reading “What’s In My Backpack”. Make Sure to Share this:. Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window). Share on Facebook (Opens in new window). Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window). Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window).
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Poetic Praxis | A fine WordPress.com site
A fine WordPress.com site. June 23, 2012. Welcome to WordPress.com. This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it. Happy blogging! Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
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writing with my eyes closed
Writing with my eyes closed. Monday, September 19, 2016. My Jewish summer moved me-and I was moved. Sitting by the lake with my grandfather, Abraham,. We sang songs of past wars, remembering our ancestors. The darkness came full force, and I could not waken. The spirit that was sleeping in me. So my grandfather. Made me a cup of hot chocolate and sang "Dance For Peace,". Which made me get up and dance-it wasn't a Jewish dance,. But Abraham laughed and poured me more hot chocolate. As the ocean itself?
Poetic Interpretations with Roeseanne Williams | Poetic Interpretations with Roeseanne Williams
From Fury To Silence. 8220;Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known.”. OPENING PRESS INTERVIEW AT THE GALLERIA DEL PALAZZO. CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE. Roseanne Williams was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in Hobe Sound, Florida and Newport, R.I. with her husband Dennis. From Cape Cod, Florida and Florence, Italy- Roseanne has had the pleasure of having her work displayed in over 50 shows and galleries worldwide. Designed by Elegant Themes.
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Huffington Post Review of Postmodern American Poetry. Anis Shivani has written a great review of Postmodern American Poetry: A Norton Anthology, 2nd edition. Here's the link: http:/ www.huffingtonpost.com/anis-shivani/where-stands-postmodern-a b 7641644.html. Labels: Contemporary American Poetry. New American Writing 33 (2015). Labels: Contemporary American Poetry. My version of " Sacred Hate. A poem from 1898 by the Afro-Barzillian Cruz E Sousa, is in the new issue of The Nation. Here is the original:.
Tim Bourke - Poetic Investigations
