The Bathers, William Adolphe Bouguereau, 1884 Ignore for a momentthe sight of twocurvaceous young ladiesskinny dippingat the beach.Concentrateon the left foot of oneas she shifts her weightand turns to the left,how its flattened archis so firmly plantedin the sandyou think it will bearall the burdenwomen have had to facesince booted out of the gardenin disgraceby […]
Lacking a car, I often ride the bus out of necessity. But if you keep your eyes and heart open, a bus ride can help you see your fellow travelers in a new light.
Once in a while, if you are lucky, you’ll encounter a poem that will take you to an enchanted place where words can do anything and for a brief time the outside world is held in suspension. I just read this poem by Sandra Beasley and have still not come back to earth. Thank you,
Everyone in me is a bird. Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, she survives all man has done.The eye of a little god, four cornered.The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down. We wear the mask that grins and lies.I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.Love has gone and left me and
Hi All, My poem “Telescope” (a limerick, actually, inspired by a quote from Alice in Wonderland) was just published in the latest issue of NewMyths. In the same issue, they also included from their archives my poem “The Yellow Snake,” inspired by the snake in The Little Prince. You can read both of them here:
As I read the headlines, I was reminded of this little poem from my collection Shopping Cart Dreams (Kelsay Books). I think it speaks to what is happening to our so-called democracy right now. https://kelsaybooks.com/products/shopping-cart-dreams
Flowering Means Nothing Read More »
I write a poem and wonderwill anyone read and remember it,and why I should carewhen I won’t be thereto hear it sung. I cannot promise it a long life.The only thing I can do is breathe into itall the truth that is in meso it can live on its own. Or I could just forget
Your perfect leavesshine back at meas if freshly washedby a spring rainand make mewant to believein youto touch your skinand feel the pulseof your artfulunblemished lifeon displayin a tidy white potyou will never outgrowI do believeyou would thrivein my sunless bathroom—a perpetual plantwho never needswatering or fussingand would not careif I live or die First
Ode to a Fake Plant Read More »