I am in truth the Steppenwolf that I often call myself; that beast astray that finds neither home nor joy nor nourishment in a world that is strange and incomprehensible to him. ~ Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf ~ Come in. Come in. Admission is free and all are welcomed to join. Don’t be anxious. Or frightened. Step right up to the mic. We’re all friends here at the All Hallows’ Eve Poetry Slam. Your only prompt […]
he was like Rilke’s panther but angrier why do they stare at me like that a captive for the pleasure of others i am just an object of curiosity
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine. ~ R.E.M. ~ gathering here at the end (some would call it a ledge) our time on stage is brief (as it always has been) (as it always will be) in the land of the not-so free all dressed up with no place to go the future is a shapeshifter who likes to spike the punch so get lost in the […]
impressions of you like scattering ariels through the parched grasslands ****** A partial backstory on this poem: while recently writing a comment, i wanted to say aerial, but instead i wrote ariel. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember how aerial was spelled. Long story short, i discovered that ariel is “a gazelle found in the Middle East and North Africa.”
creatures burrowed between the roots sense it winds carry the weight of a sea the bough will break
GUILDENSTERN (quietly): Where we went wrong was getting on a boat. We can move, of course, change direction, rattle about, but our movement is contained within a larger one that carries us along as inexorably as the wind and current… ~ Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead en route between one dock and another yet stationary a brisk mildness in between two seasons just a sweater no jacket we lose most of our body heat […]
autumn like the theater-goer arriving late to the show does its best to glide along the edge holding its grey breath against the murmur and hush
we are committed to the duel addicted to our tournament of thorny roses as we are to each other we joust into the night except there is no one there to cheer us on to watch us always playing to a draw
it’s the old story of no food in the cupboard of only the strong survive of bending but not breaking of how the old dogged reporter gets the scoop shares secrets about the emperors of coin of having proof changes nothing The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge #56 | Scoop | Share | Proof | Bend | Secret | Image from The New York Public Library: Lewis Wickes Hines, “One of the many young newsboys […]
impressions like lava percolate between deeply buried strata it’s a phase he’s going through creation has been suspended temporarily Pic and a Word Challenge #56 – Creation
