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Dreaming Out Loud

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Friday, August 7, 2015. Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon. The wind stirs up longings. The breath nods like a sage. While the earth itself. Purrs in the gathering rain clouds. Not even the scientists. Where we’ll all be in ten years. Hold hands like kids. Singing “London Bridge”. Knowing all poems are futile. Someday we’ll have a solar roof. Give up our car. And ride a bicycle. Recycle bath water for the garden. Have I felt m...

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Dreaming Out Loud | wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com Reviews

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A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Friday, August 7, 2015. Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon. The wind stirs up longings. The breath nods like a sage. While the earth itself. Purrs in the gathering rain clouds. Not even the scientists. Where we’ll all be in ten years. Hold hands like kids. Singing “London Bridge”. Knowing all poems are futile. Someday we’ll have a solar roof. Give up our car. And ride a bicycle. Recycle bath water for the garden. Have I felt m...

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Dreaming Out Loud | wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com Reviews

https://wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Friday, August 7, 2015. Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon. The wind stirs up longings. The breath nods like a sage. While the earth itself. Purrs in the gathering rain clouds. Not even the scientists. Where we’ll all be in ten years. Hold hands like kids. Singing “London Bridge”. Knowing all poems are futile. Someday we’ll have a solar roof. Give up our car. And ride a bicycle. Recycle bath water for the garden. Have I felt m...

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wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com

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Dreaming Out Loud: January 2015

http://www.wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com/2015_01_01_archive.html

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Monday, January 19, 2015. The sky went from blue gray to gray. Not a big change really. But a subtle change. And all those footsteps poems. Like clumps of soft furze. Beneath the intermittent sun. Can you recall your childhood. When the idea of sledding. Was more fun than the sledding itself. To walk along the treeline. Inhaling the fresh cold air. Arms open to tomorrow. That magical gray color. Alive with the crunch of snow.

2

Dreaming Out Loud: Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon

http://www.wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com/2015/08/elder-poets-on-summer-afternoon.html

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Friday, August 7, 2015. Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon. The wind stirs up longings. The breath nods like a sage. While the earth itself. Purrs in the gathering rain clouds. Not even the scientists. Where we’ll all be in ten years. Hold hands like kids. Singing “London Bridge”. Knowing all poems are futile. Someday we’ll have a solar roof. Give up our car. And ride a bicycle. Recycle bath water for the garden.

3

Dreaming Out Loud: April 2015

http://www.wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com/2015_04_01_archive.html

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Saturday, April 25, 2015. True happiness doesn't necessarily smile. It comes from a deep sense of place. The mystical golden sunset. Sinks behind the charcoal trees. Under the dark cerulean clouds. Of an uncertain Spring. Soon I'll cut vegetables. And add to the soup. With coriander and turmeric. Is too strong a word. I didn't see the art exhibit. Or the sand mandala today. But the sky etched into my consciousness. All those ...

4

Dreaming Out Loud: December 2014

http://www.wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Wednesday, December 10, 2014. Interstellar traveler caught in wintry mix. A sense of always waiting. More the flatlined relief. That no more catastrophes. Can happen for a moment. My friend writes to me of magic. And I know it is afoot. Everywhere and at all times. Yet I am encumbered. My old lover and me, as he. Burrows through his tunnel. Of pain and suffering. Hopeful that the torches will last. I call upon my light beings.

5

Dreaming Out Loud: Music Says

http://www.wildsparrow-dreaming.blogspot.com/2015/05/music-says.html

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Monday, May 18, 2015. You can plan and dream. You can craft your future. Like a child with a toy. When the moment comes. When you find the experience. Stepping up to greet you. You’re never ready. You’re never prepared. For the first kiss of reality. The bright light in the darkness and the sound. Tugs the corners of your mouth into a smile. And you can wade into the sea. With all the other travelers. Sinks into Friday night.

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Moineau en France: Letter to Santa

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/12/letter-to-santa.html

Mercredi 24 décembre 2014. Dear Santa, where have you been all my life? I have a picture of you with my little brother Paul when he was two years old, then four. He was so adorable, blond hair with straight-across bangs, lips pursed tightly together. I even named my own son after him. My brother is now a captain for Southwest Airlines. Perhaps he'll fly over Alaska again and put out fires. Santa, if you live, will you deliver my brother and my sons home to me for Christmas? MF est en Oregon. Poet and Tra...

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: "And when she came back she was nobody's wife..."

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/07/and-when-she-came-she-was-nobodys-wife.html

Mercredi 15 juillet 2015. And when she came back she was nobody's wife.". Inscription à : Publier les commentaires (Atom). MF est en Oregon. Only Hope was left within her unbreakable house, she remained under the lip of the jar, and did not fly away.". Kabir said, If you haven't. Lived through it, it is not true. Experience the music of the late, great Alain Bashung, with line-by-line translations from French to English! Portland, Oregon, United States. Poet and Translator of. Afficher mon profil complet.

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Lamentation

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/07/lamentation.html

Mercredi 22 juillet 2015. For the Lamed-waf are the hearts of the world multiplied, and into them, as into one receptacle, pour all our griefs.” — from Le dernier des justes. The last of the just. And I'll tear my hair out. If God will permit me. And of this indeed. Nothing is less certain. For I must stand. And bear it all. What I've done and. When I was nary a thought. A dove on an olive branch. That traversed the great. And its salt-encrusted air. Clung to my skin. And made it brittle. But a heavy pit.

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Jibberish

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/07/jibberish.html

Jeudi 16 juillet 2015. From their twaddle of. One cup then two. Like a china collection. It doesn't matter if. Wanting what it wants. No thought to the. Oh fuck it they said. We're going after the. No calories no chewing. The good the bad and. Old bags who make. They boil and whistle. And I run to them. Hedge of madness into. Inscription à : Publier les commentaires (Atom). MF est en Oregon. Only Hope was left within her unbreakable house, she remained under the lip of the jar, and did not fly away.".

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Benjamin Biolay - A l'origine (translation)

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/07/benjamin-biolay-lorigine-translation.html

Jeudi 9 juillet 2015. Benjamin Biolay - A l'origine (translation). A l'origine on était pas des sauvages. In the beginning we weren't savages. A l'origine on habitait pas la cage. In the beginning we didn't live in cages. Au premier signe on libérait les otages. At the first signal we liberated the hostages. A l'origine on faisait pas l'étalage. In the beginning we didn't make window displays. De nos racines, on avait pas d'héritage. From our roots we didn't have a heritage. God God. God it's long ago.

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Moineau en France: The Loneliness of the Bilingual Poet

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-loneliness-of-bilingual-poet.html

Lundi 11 mai 2015. The Loneliness of the Bilingual Poet. Why a single poem. Speaks to me in. One language over another. Choosing the flat American narrative. Against the metaphysical French wave. A story of shock and awe. Or those philosophical ponderings. All I know is when I'm done. The words sit on a fence like. Crows against a landscape. Until they heckle and jeckle me. Into reading them aloud. And I read them as they are writ. In that godforsaken foreign language. Droning on and on and on and on.

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Necessary positivity ...

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/07/necessary-positivity.html

Jeudi 9 juillet 2015. Stumbled on this wonderful video of Jon Batiste and Stay Human while researching. they will be the house band on Stephen Colbert's Late Night. Hey, some needed joy all around! Inscription à : Publier les commentaires (Atom). MF est en Oregon. Only Hope was left within her unbreakable house, she remained under the lip of the jar, and did not fly away.". Kabir said, If you haven't. Lived through it, it is not true. Portland, Oregon, United States. Poet and Translator of. Love is all t...

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Sea Pine

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/02/sea-pine.html

Jeudi 19 février 2015. I can't see it. But I can smell it. Drifting on the wind. Pine sap and dark brown honey. All wood perfume like deep forest. Striking my yellow jacket heart. Autumnal like dying leaves. Or those helicopter seeds. Yet this is not leaves or seeds. In front of infinite turquoise. Roaring with siren song. I'm searching every branch. Marching miles of seawall. Gypsy parks and empty tavernas. My eyes desperate to find it. To know its form, name its name. Bottle it and take it home. The En...

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Everything Change, edited by Manjana Milkoreit, Meredith Martinez and Joey Eschrich

http://www.rocketstackrank.com/2016/11/Everything-Change-Manjana-Milkoreit-Meredith-Martinez-Joey-Eschrich.html

Rocket Stack Rank™ (RSR) aims to help casual SF fans find and discuss great original short fiction. It reviews science fiction and fantasy short stories, novelettes, and novellas, and publishes articles of interest to fans. Monday, November 7, 2016. Everything Change, edited by Manjana Milkoreit, Meredith Martinez and Joey Eschrich. 44,919 words; Time. Rating: ★★★☆☆. The 2016 Climate Fiction Short Story Contest. Was conducted by Arizona State University. Edited by Manjana Milkoreit, Meredith Martinez.

moineauenfrance.blogspot.com

Moineau en France: Black Sun--Death Cab for Cutie

http://moineauenfrance.blogspot.com/2015/02/black-sun-death-cab-for-cutie.html

Mardi 17 février 2015. Black Sun- Death Cab for Cutie. There is grace within forgiveness. But it's so hard for me to find .". Inscription à : Publier les commentaires (Atom). MF est en Oregon. Only Hope was left within her unbreakable house, she remained under the lip of the jar, and did not fly away.". Kabir said, If you haven't. Lived through it, it is not true. Experience the music of the late, great Alain Bashung, with line-by-line translations from French to English! Portland, Oregon, United States.

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Dreaming Out Loud

A writer's escape into the inner world where imagination meets virtual reality. Friday, August 7, 2015. Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon. The wind stirs up longings. The breath nods like a sage. While the earth itself. Purrs in the gathering rain clouds. Not even the scientists. Where we’ll all be in ten years. Hold hands like kids. Singing “London Bridge”. Knowing all poems are futile. Someday we’ll have a solar roof. Give up our car. And ride a bicycle. Recycle bath water for the garden. Have I felt m...

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