Saturday, February 16, 2019

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The beauty of the blood-soaked jewelleryCannot distract the young couple on the travelatorFrom gazing into each other’s eyesLongingly.

Not even the screams of the ghostsWhose organs are burntIn front of their not-yet-dying eyesCan stop their passionate kissing.

It was a flicker of a dressA glimpseAnd an argumentThat sent them to never see each other again.

While the ravens, feasting on their ancestors storiesAre still waitingFor the return of the daysWhen warm flesh is servedWith every meal.

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One of the under-appreciated benefits of living in the natural world -- for example on a small, diverse farm -- is that you encounter death on a regular basis and become relatively comfortable with it. Those who live on top of the world, let's say the residents of a 10th-floor apartment where water comes in taps and food in plastic, more easily live in denial.

Now you may think that denial -- not thinking about it at all -- is more comfortable than familiarity, but that is not the case for the simple reason that death inevitably intrudes, and the sudden snap from denial to confrontation... Read More

The list of "titles" goes on and on. Literally everyday in New York, creative folks transplant themselves into our shoebox-shaped railroad apartments to begin their career in some sort of creative or performing art. Hope runs high and money often runs low. In many cases, in order to afford both the rent for their sublet and the dollar menu at Wendy's, they have to take some sort of temp or waitressing job to even make it here long enough before they eat through their savings like a bear in a shopping mall. I am one of those people. Thankfully I’ve lived in NY for what I consider "long enough"... Read More

We are surrounded—delimited by zillions of diminutive bodies-creatures of the atmosphere… invading the atmosphere; tailoring the air in intricate winged designs… minuscule bodies meandering the melody of the early evening air… zigzagging invisible paths.

And there are those tingle of spider webs made out of gold and thin air too. Spider web that seem to twinkle and dance from the rooftops down to the garden’s floor when agitated by light...

It’s the enchantment of the summer evenings in the garden. And I am here—clinging to the magic of the moment; racing against time; racing... Read More

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Recent Comments

Musings Of A Poet

Agree Barb, throwing the baby out with the bath water 'aint the answer. Take care. :>)

Musings Of A Poet

I know Rigina, when it takes a week for legite comments to appear it is upsetting, and it is killing the site slowly. Surely there must be a better way to address the spammers and floggers. Also taking away ratings if you do not post in a period of...

Musings Of A Poet

ed i was one of the original complainers about people using this site to flog their stuff. Now legite comments don't show?