Honey

Pressed against glass, face down, born again in the cloud. Another memory retained for…what? “Marianne loves Bobby. 12th Grade. 17 Years old.” That lasted nine months before ending in bruises, abortion, and divorce. Yet, the photos remain, reminders of erstwhile lovers and friends, a past suffused in shade. Sadness the emotion as album pages flutter by, the memories that began in happiness later viewed from … Continue reading Honey

The Filing Cabinet. And a Poem

What began in fellowship of open arms, broad smiles and welcoming words soon fell into routine. The wonder of the inchworm’s humped-back crawl faded as attention drifted elsewhere. Like a prairie dog village, heads sank into oblivious existence as curiosity waned. \ I could not describe the Bavarian village, framed by towering Alpine mountains and last seen as a child, well-enough so you’d know it … Continue reading The Filing Cabinet. And a Poem

Leave Something Behind, up at Vita Brevis

My poem, Leave Something Behind, was published today by Brian Geiger of Vita Brevis. This is my first published poem; I couldn’t be happier 🙂 Please check it out. While you’re there, consider browsing the Vita Brevis site. Brian has added some interesting features including a random poem generator and links to some of the best poetry offered on WordPress. Follow the site to read and support great poetry. Continue reading Leave Something Behind, up at Vita Brevis

The Frog and the Granite Shore – A Poem

I walked through a wood one summer’s day, Afternoon light dappled a forest glade; Lily pad in green-black pond and on it lay A frog whose languid croak appeared to say, As he scratched white belly in sun’s warm ray, I shall not move on this hot summer’s day. I stopped to ponder my neighbor in green, Who, eyes near closed in dreamlike sheen, Lay … Continue reading The Frog and the Granite Shore – A Poem

Canvas Song – Poetry: Haibun

  Urban din recedes in anticipation of approaching quiet; homeward bound vacationers whish south in reluctant pursuit. Tires clack-clack on expansion joints as Molly Pitcher offers a garden of rest. “Push on, push on,” cried ancestors in covered wagons as winter’s snows crept near. But here, now, summer falls away in flittering drops of leaves and Autumn’s temperatures bring relief from insects, heat, and labor. … Continue reading Canvas Song – Poetry: Haibun

Curled Up In You

Curled up in ringlets Electric parts of you, Shoulder length distractions Thoughts are all askew, Hope for sleep abandoned Your pillow’s made for two, Nose to nose connection Our favored point of view. Random touches, random whispers, Fingers playing finders keepers, Hidden fragrance in your smile, Let me breathe you for a while. Chastened by your virtue Encouraged by your sighs Midnight flame rekindled My … Continue reading Curled Up In You

My Catalan Love

Susanna Avila, my Catalan beauty, woman of Spain. Coy smile held mystery, Unknowable history, Too briefly our souls entwined; This beauteous love, my destiny. Soulful gaze, emerald eyes piercing, Black hair dancing with night, Skin purest translucent white, Slender and graceful, slim elfin form, Delicate, raven-haired sprite. Ivory shoulders, smooth marble breast, Face fairer than Venus’ race, Spirit virgin, chaste, Ethereal, supernal essence; Tender, enchanting … Continue reading My Catalan Love

Cast the First Stone

From my amniotic nest I emerge untainted into the cold metallic light and harsh steel voices disconnected from the comforting lullabies that whispered through my forming bones; with the cast of a stone I become a changeling and tremble wailing before those who will taint me with their jealous love and solemn oaths. Some things we learn and some we’re taught, others are innate; defenseless … Continue reading Cast the First Stone

Reblog: Memorial 1 and 2, by Stephen McGuinness

1.
Remember
The human.
A curse on
The uniform.
Isn’t it enough that
He is dead?
Torn from his
Mother’s grasp.
Rent asunder,
Ripped,
Shredded,
Buried.
He shall not
Grow old….
As if he had
A choice.
Glorious dead?
There is no glory
In fear, in pain,
In cold wet clay.
They are all the same
These memorials.
Old men cry out
For the next generation
To poison.
2.
Don’t poison my boys
as we were poisoned
with dreams of freedoms
that never occur.
Heroes puddled in blood.
Monuments, graves to visit,
murals to the dead.
The notion that they
can gain by sacrificing
themselves for a nation,
as if any scrap of ground
is worth their beautiful lives.

Continue reading “Reblog: Memorial 1 and 2, by Stephen McGuinness”

Writing While Walking, by Stephen McGuinness

Stephen McGuinness makes me happy humans were given the gift of words and thought.  To read more of Stephen’s work, please visit poetry with a small p. “Quiet confounds me. I search through a Clam-tight mind To find something, A thing, a piece, a collection Of words, to explain, To describe, to myself Most of all, what, If anything, is going on. Hush rushes, quietly, Through … Continue reading Writing While Walking, by Stephen McGuinness

Of Love and Fragrance

Your fragrance often wafts into my head guided by the metaphysical pinings of two souls and the bond between spirits not tethered to temporal moorings. Mortal boundaries span six feet of earthly separation but the heavenly plane exists within our senses. Comforting, that thought, and breathing your scent brings thoughts of your heaven wafting through my mind. For heaven is where you took me taking … Continue reading Of Love and Fragrance

Leave Something Behind – Poetry by Will

Erased by an impetuous sea, Jealous, I think, of my temerity in leaving behind an imprint of me Stone fabric, cold, incurvated; A chase, the sun, a hand, Symbols, signs, epitaphs that cry I Was Here, Remember Me The wind, the stars, the sea, Inked on the space that surrounds me; Permanence that comes with death, Usually; Not that bodily death is not permanent, Just … Continue reading Leave Something Behind – Poetry by Will

On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,

This dark and deep poem from Joseph Emerson comes from the soul and brings to the surface the fears we all have about living life to the fullest without wasting a moment. I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in, I punched my way through the tamped surface a ghost of a chance, that I’d let … Continue reading On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,

On Poetry: (are we) sprung; from Pleasant Street, Are You Thrilled

Please enjoy this poem by one of my favorite Poets: let us run (hard) it is not yet summer but the sun is burning my shoulder and the clouds hang back waiting for a sign all buds bursting let us not (give up) stay between walls of ivy each caveat they hurl weighs tons–up against daffodils in your sunglasses and tulips–and rose oil dabbed behind … Continue reading On Poetry: (are we) sprung; from Pleasant Street, Are You Thrilled

Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

By Stephen McGuinness I feel my footsteps Count down days With chimed strokes Resonant, reflective. A sinus wave hearbeat Synchronous vibrations of Train beaten whispered Words on tracks. Calm, a balm, a salve. Chantors: ancient haunting Mantras, dripped holy oils. Smoke in tendrils, lifting, Rising: one, two, three, Expectant tension then Reassuring: four, exhale To begin once more. Repetition, confirmation, prediction. We seek out rhythm, … Continue reading Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.

By Stephen McGuinness Hanging yellow smoke, Remnant of blue coal Fire, retreats, yields ground To offered stars, becoming Magnificent in abundance. Time, slowed with motion, Allows a reluctant sun, Lazy with sleep, to Couple with a blind, Impatient world. Warmed colours run, then, Easily into one another. Streaks of glaring light Shower brazen stripes Over bleached winter streets Burdened with yawned Traffic, ploughing heavily Towards … Continue reading February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.

Rain on my Face — Writing from poetry with a small p.

It isn’t until I read Stephen’s poetry that I realize how dry and dull life can be without words like his to lift the heart, or make one cry, as the case may be. He has never yet failed to bring a smile to my face or tears to my eyes. Few people are as gifted as Stephen McGuinness. Fine, cold rain paints my face. … Continue reading Rain on my Face — Writing from poetry with a small p.

Every Night With You

Enchanted by the stars, like smelling roses, Anticipating the rush of a meteor flash Or Saturn’s rings in full-on view and Europa, Like Andromeda’s spiral, in ageless lights of time, And my heart pumps a million times a minute When sun bids day adieu amidst a host of glory, And that spinning dance and flash of white That reveals your teeth in brilliant, ecstatic smile … Continue reading Every Night With You