The Poetry of Emotion
Cider is something That makes me long for a time That I never knew. I have known scotch and cheap bars, But not the tones in photos. Photo by Tijana Drndarski on Pexels.com About the Poet: S.F. Wright lives and teaches in New Jersey. His work has appeared in Hobart, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, and... Continue Reading →
Another leaf falls a red tear floating, its life but a season and a half. Temporary beauty like all beauty. We are made up of atoms and moments and even if we never die but are composted and reused for all eternity, there is nothing permanent. We fall as leaves return to the earth decay... Continue Reading →
There’s a mirror and the mirror’s other side no one looks at kisses a wall. There’s a mirror, one of those square mirrors ladies would take from their purses before church to look at themselves. Those mirrors had other sides. Photo by Mariana Blue on Pexels.com About the Poet: Peter Mladinic’s fourth book of poems,... Continue Reading →
Kill a star, Burn a sacrifice; Stir a time, Surrender a memory. We always thought we knew More about each other than we did, But we could never know enough. And, of course, there were many distractions That often made us doubt. But the stars were in our eyes— We bargained for them daily, And... Continue Reading →
I am Mayakovsky in resonating firmament seeking a destiny of my beginning, the initial stirrings of rebirth in a country not mine now. Strange to see the fast-food dominions in a place where people devour ground beef in endless hunger. The way many fervent faithful lap up the pharmaceutical host onto their obedient tongues? The... Continue Reading →
The mine stands before the audience and pretends to cry. He wears the night’s performance like a new suit. The sun dries the sea with anxious eyes burning down— a rhapsody of dreams expiring. As wingless as a bee the mine blinks, and moves in circles, faceless as a stone … a vapor reflection in... Continue Reading →
Most beautiful grief. The classic shape of the weeping rose. A sudden smile puts the day in your face. Who cares if night’s flight is an illusion. And those eyes. They repeat what you don’t say. I’ll get over. I’ve gotten over. On with your day, flower with a little self-watering. Nothing so contrived has... Continue Reading →
“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” Kahlil Gibran The old man watched her shadow moving away in the widdershins wind, saw her eyes watching eternity through the tears of God, and his thoughts staggered over illusions veiled in emotions that there whispering themselves into oblivion.... Continue Reading →
The winter trees reach their crooked boughs to the sky, their meandering bones now unburdened by the weight of summer's fleshy foliage. I envy their redundancy, their ability to repeat themselves year after year without hesitation or apology. They know nothing of pandemics or polemics. Taking their time, they shift effortlessly from death to life... Continue Reading →
With each intimacy you leave a portion to another being. Piece by piece, you lose bits of yourself to one more person. Proprium has it: slivers of your little secret lie with this or that entity. And, you stand by for the Molotov cocktail to go kablooey. It is best to be inbound. One with... Continue Reading →
Ephemeral Elegies 