Tag: open journal
group name: theromantics
|
February 02, 2009 07:25 AM EST --
jour nal-I
Island I am. On me a single tree
has sprawled the shadowy canopy.
The roots of it seeks moisture deep within
and is thwarted by stones island carry
like stones are . . .
more
|
|
April 27, 2009 09:50 PM EDT --
T h o r n s
The man wakes up, waking up hurts.
“Where are my thorns?” He whispers.
The spot of blood provides evidence
to the thorns’ burning existence. . . .
more
|
|
May 17, 2009 10:12 PM EDT --
poet II
( To John F W )
True picture whispers,
A maestro's pen scurries on,
Drops of ink on sand.
*
A telephone rings,
Instrument rings like a . . .
more
|
|
April 23, 2009 10:23 PM EDT --
Mid Summer Noon’s Dreams
The station of mid noon is desolate;
the platform is really a flowing stream
waves of shining sun sweeps him away.
The aged . . .
more
|
|
June 24, 2009 07:28 AM EDT --
I couldn’t let me die
The edge of the cornice is a call I cannot avoid;
the torrents of sounds, vague and uncommunicating,
are encircling myself; the edge of . . .
more
|
|
June 06, 2009 11:39 PM EDT --
Secrets
A drop of silence.
A long road into conscience.
Fear is frightened.
My whispers moist the mirror,
I have been talking to; lips move.
A sweep . . .
more
|
|
June 11, 2009 07:01 AM EDT --
The broken road to heaven
The broken road in need of maintenance
through which we have traveled, mute and solemn
to our delight
was alight with millions of glow bugs;
evening was another . . .
more
|
|
January 24, 2009 09:32 PM EST --
Cuts both ways
His fingers roam all over.
The points are rising,
seeking more pleasure.
She can whisper
those naughty sweet words
she cannot utter otherwise.
She takes . . .
more
|
|
February 03, 2009 09:24 PM EST --
A Run Through The Fire
Feet hurt while chasing tears on a street of fire.
I know, still the lady is waiting for me there,
at the beach beside the blue of the sky reflecting . . .
more
|
|
February 17, 2009 09:32 PM EST --
Heartbreaks have names
There she is, waiting with her eyes down
to the cooling cup of coffee in front.
The covert sun is weak with old age
and falling feebly upon the square. . . .
more
|
|
April 22, 2009 09:42 AM EDT --
S p ri ng field, ev ening
(Wednesday writing Essentials)
A spawning band
sweats over rhythm;
they stoop to gather
it from the fallen . . .
more
|
|
April 23, 2009 08:14 AM EDT --
Pardon Hans Andersen
I derive out of the sea, weeds clinging to my feet,
salt dripping from wet hair; like sailors’ myths, fictions.
I look at the wet, forlorn fishing . . .
more
|
|
April 25, 2009 10:19 PM EDT --
Twenty odd years
Small palms are puffy, pink
they clap together
as if involuntarily.
Laughter peels the hard world,
the city, the traffic…
it knows . . .
more
|
|
May 08, 2009 10:14 PM EDT --
LIFE LINE
The stairs with usual the damp air of age, slip.
A pain enters, knocking with rapid rhythm, urgency.
Suffocating, he feels a mist is enveloping
every view, every . . .
more
|
|
May 25, 2009 06:01 AM EDT --
Kitchen and sundial
( To Alison and the surreal circus-IV )
Reeling in, rolling in the scene, words, smells, senses
she looks at, what seems like misguided tour of ruins; . . .
more
|
|
June 02, 2009 06:38 AM EDT --
Calendar
A few more steps towards back
where he came from
where still a delicate hand is
waiting untouched
because he had not been wise in the past.
He smiled at the calendar. . . .
more
|
|
June 06, 2009 01:35 AM EDT --
Snake on the beach
( Bared Beach-III nad To the Surreal Circus )
You have gasped, almost screamed and scurried away,
like the crabs; of course, you are unaware . . .
more
|
|
June 07, 2009 09:57 PM EDT --
Feeling like a S unday: a triolet
It felt good; I wanted to spread the feelings. You were there, by the Sunday crosswords, I was into one of those thousand little . . .
more
|
|
June 23, 2009 07:45 AM EDT --
Abortion at seventeen
The shades of black within you surface
before you lose consciousness on the
sanitized bed of the hospital.
No friendly face is waiting outside. . . .
more
|
|
November 07, 2008 09:46 PM EST --
The flight of the phoenix
Part 8, streets of a new city
The crimson lights begin to flash,
the streets of a city with their
million lives are being . . .
more
|
|
|
|
