Over a decade ago, and when I was still fairly new to reading and writing poetry, I bought Walt Whitman's final edition of Leaves of Grass, which contains his full life's work. It is still one of the most cherished books on my shelf. Though to be honest, I found some of it a little … Continue reading O Captain! My Captain! (a poem by Walt Whitman)
So, about this blogging thing... I'm still learning, and I have at least gotten so far as to know that it is definitely poetry and writing which I wish to share. But, I don't always have a new poem to post; and besides, maybe my poems aren't always everyone's cup of tea. That's okay. I … Continue reading Blog-thoughts & a Poem from Bukowski
Like you, I too, am bell-like & ascetic; made hollowed-through -- an instrument of stunning emptied-emptiness . . . We were made to be coupled & meant to be symphony. We become two trapeze in graceful mourning; a balance of momentums ---- we ring a lonesome, winsome melody You chime, as I echo, while, you … Continue reading The Shape of Us (A poem)
I wouldn't say that I am manic -- that word implies insane happiness? surely giddiness? the same, they are strangers to me mostly, madness is not the problem with my creativity is suffering my depression as well as it can. And it can, and it can. Can I write you a prescription? It will cure … Continue reading Curing Madness
Immortality used to be a birth-pink cordiform face, fresh from my daughter's womb. Immortality is doomed and he is only 4 years old, at this moment; he cannot know what is coming. Immortality has not read the last Book of Revelations and Immortality does not concern himself with science, or with unnatural, natural disasters. Or … Continue reading A Poem For Immortality
"Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody." -Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger He nudged me from a dream of nothing, nothingness, speaking softly in an old man's voice I knew I knew, but hadn't quite heard, before. He said he was tired from tending too long to buried, … Continue reading The Old Man’s Last Words
Until you so loosened me with insignificance, then with the half-moon of stars dangling, barely daring to glimmer about my neck; about to fall madly, again closed those blue, blue darkroom hands with your inked veins, pulsing about my neck; You kept me throat-tight in silence for years. I won't wear any necklaces now. -B.