tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48708748371714214632024-02-19T10:17:19.959-05:00Salamander CovePoetry from Here and Thereawynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comBlogger284125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-93603415783946332012-10-20T09:48:00.003-04:002012-10-20T14:45:16.962-04:00
"The Gift" . Artist: Sarkish (Latvia)
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-51500931573488855962012-10-20T09:48:00.002-04:002012-10-21T06:32:35.436-04:00Little Epiphanies
The difference between what’s required
and what’s desired is the difference
between the chocolate and the cake,
the car and the new car smell, the nightie
and the night. There’s so much I want
to twist round my fingers, to stroke
and stir, sketch and stretch, but so much
I should sweep and scrub, strip
and sterilize. But I’d rather wring dirt
from my pores, turn it awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-46550261860589915852012-10-20T09:48:00.001-04:002012-10-20T09:48:28.054-04:00stud
newborn
leggy colt struggles to stand
first of many challenges
~ ~ Judi Van Gorder
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-42094663590884570662012-10-20T09:48:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:48:01.284-04:00
Ghost Hawk. Photographer: Trane DeVore
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-45527218085474693902012-10-20T09:47:00.003-04:002012-10-20T14:47:06.471-04:00Imagine
walking up forty-two stairs,
the smell of a rubber ball, your arm
brushing against a stucco wall,
the prick of a pin in the tip
of your right index finger.
There was a clock you once knew,
draw its tick inside your body.
There was a bicycle on a dirt road
the summer you fell in love,
balance on its handlebars.
Enter a room you have forgotten.
Walk through midnight
carrying a awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-15573574826757220502012-10-20T09:47:00.002-04:002012-10-20T09:47:35.008-04:00
Fisherman and Sons. Artist: Donna Crosby
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-31489431886196200862012-10-20T09:47:00.001-04:002012-10-20T09:47:24.225-04:00Fisherman
A man spends his whole life fishing in himself
for something grand. It's like some lost lunker, big enough
to break all records. But he's only heard rumors, myths,
vague promises of wonder. He's only felt the shadow
of something enormous darken his life. Or has he?
Maybe it's the shadow of other fish, greater than his,
the shadow of other men's souls passing over him.
Each day awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-69533697435484766172012-10-20T09:47:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:47:13.886-04:00
Cobalt Field. Artist: Warren Gossett
farm auction -
the gavel falls
on his dreams
playground
a awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-67584082546130933162012-10-20T09:46:00.002-04:002012-10-20T09:46:46.538-04:00Fidelidad
Envejecer otro año en la colonia
veraniega.
Pero ni dos amantes
sensatos entorpecen la trama
hostil del
eucalipto.
Como en una
acuarela frente a un grupo
de aprendices de crítico,
poniente abre una herida
entre los piragüistas.
Se me ocurre que somos caracoles
en una espiga, dos
piezas arracimadas
en el puño de conchas
sobre el tallo amarillo
violando alguna ley de la materia.
~awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-91468009350499040752012-10-20T09:46:00.001-04:002012-10-20T09:46:22.920-04:00
Dance of Life 2. Artist: Anatol Knotek
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-78826435605194215882012-10-20T09:46:00.000-04:002012-10-20T14:48:40.007-04:00Questions about Love
From what I have heard of love,
People don’t give their heart.
Our heart flies from us,
And we can choose to follow or not.
-- From “Translations”, by Brian Friel.
I too have heard tell of love,
The stories speak
of something solid, something
withawynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-54128420615045866232012-10-20T09:45:00.002-04:002012-10-20T09:45:54.588-04:00
Followers. Artist: Lea Kelley
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<![endif]-->awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-82016063563836400902012-10-20T09:45:00.001-04:002012-10-20T09:45:43.878-04:00The End
Oblivious, the holy man of God's
Voice unctuously tries to put at ease
Each desultory listener. He lauds
Redemption at my somber obsequies.
Mark how he speaks of hard-earned paradise,
Yammering in his sober self-restraint:
Deliverance from evil, sacrifice,
Effusions both of angel and of saint,
As if this Earth were not the world to me!
Despite it all, it's all I've ever known;
Be awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-7814595013167198202012-10-20T09:45:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:45:29.888-04:00Ca şi cum, glissando
Departe de unde mã aflu,
pragul de fulgi arginitii
cerne spaţiul stelelor cârcotaşe
- ca şi cum –
ca şi cum totul n-ar fi decât o simplã ezitare
de a exista
sub globuri mãrunte, adunate în luminã,
si mansarda lor, un solstitiuce
reverbereaza intr-un timid glissando
cu tonul
unor
ploi ce-abia incep.
~ ~ awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-14749635701982272812012-10-20T09:44:00.003-04:002012-10-20T20:28:50.548-04:00Upheavals
The February 27, 2010 magnitude 8.8 earthquake in Chile moved Earth’s figure axis by about 3
inches, affecting the Earth’s rotation, shortening its days, and moving the city of Concepción
at least 10 feet to the West. (from NASA website)
The dire catastrophe — the flood, the quake,
the hurricane — is hailed as breaking news;
but unreported wrecks — the hearts that break
more awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-2905072085754189802012-10-20T09:44:00.002-04:002012-10-20T14:49:28.775-04:00
Too Late to Cry. Artist: Lea Kelley
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-76256725476783176752012-10-20T09:44:00.001-04:002012-10-20T14:52:08.133-04:00Pond
How it resembles a myth in its inner shining
a little kingdom a sunken palace of weeds
within its borders silence and the unknown
you may enter it briefly if you stay you die
~ ~ Kurt Brown
Agni Online, 2008.
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-66723691034274238962012-10-20T09:44:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:44:05.416-04:00
Three Horse Heads. Artist:
Robert Joyner
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-77035432765651875432012-10-20T09:43:00.002-04:002012-10-20T09:43:46.204-04:00Horsemen of Afghanistan
Flesh against tanks,
I saw them streaking
across the TV screen.
The horses,
once the pride of the north,
butter-fed, pampered and prized.
Bred for endurance and speed,
trained to be one with the chapandaz
to excel on the field
of the Buzkashi.
A way of life, a culture lost.
Equestrian royalty
used as antiquated tools of war,
to be sacrificed
by terrorists, imperialists
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-75372783514494474072012-10-20T09:43:00.001-04:002017-11-22T20:57:43.327-05:00A Knock On The Door
They ask me if I've ever thought about the end of
the world, and I say, "Come in, come in, let me
give you some lunch, for God's sake." After a few
bites it's the afterlife they want to talk about.
"Ouch," I say, "did you see that grape leaf
skeletonizer?" Then they're talking about
redemption and the chosen few sitting right by
His side. "Doing what?" I ask. "Just sitting?" awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-18821240637742636482012-10-20T09:43:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:43:14.168-04:00
中秋節…
我打開窗戶
讓寂靜逃逸
~ ~ 劉鎮歐
Moon Festival…
I open the window
&awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-84018056194311183712012-10-20T09:42:00.003-04:002012-10-20T09:42:54.353-04:00
War Child. . Artist: Michael D. Edens
awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-63771702697209163262012-10-20T09:42:00.002-04:002012-10-20T16:46:34.393-04:00
the start of the war—
Through bare branches I spy on
my neighbors’ houses
Spring evening.
&awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-84470922414566699462012-10-20T09:42:00.001-04:002017-11-22T21:03:58.681-05:00The Ambiguity of Clouds
Never mind, the clouds say
as they drift above her. Never mind.
When you first heard as a child,
you thought they meant
let it go, don't fuss about it,
believing the phrase implied
all would be fine
if you didn't obsess, if you didn't
let things fester.
Time has taught you another
meaning; death has taught you,
loneliness has taught you.
It's never the mind
that gets awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4870874837171421463.post-52209581337071198962012-10-20T09:42:00.000-04:002012-10-20T09:42:07.233-04:00
~ ~ Ruth Bavetta
From Rattle #29, Summer 2008. awynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01541564613932885469noreply@blogger.com