The Light of Asia
Friday, December 25, 2009
Edwin Arnold
One of my favorite British poets is Edwin Arnold, who is well known for his poetry about East Asian religions. "The Light Of Asia" is one of my favorites and can be read at Project Gutenberg. Enjoy!
The Light of Asia
The Light of Asia
Turn Your Dream Into a Poem, Part 2
With the notes from your dream in front of you, read them over and pick out any particular points you wish to emphasize in your poem. What you want to do is provide some type of lead-in at the beginning of your poem that will tell the reader this is based on a dream that you had. Poems based on dreams tend to have an ethereal quality to them which allows readers to experience and analyze what your dream may hold for you in terms of significance. As an example, see a segment from my poem below titled “The Perfect Real Estate” which appeared in the first issue of Aquapolis, June 2007:
The Perfect Real Estate
Heat coming out of the ground
wayward feet searching for the
right planet to land on
hopscotch from star to star
which family is the right one to join
not the one where your life
is behind your back
not the one where you
are significantly different
not the one where
they walk on their hands
all day long.
In this poem I draw from my own background experience which is integrated into the dream. After your lead-in is written down - and it can be anything from something to a mundane activity like going to the post office, to seeing a new work of art - you are ready to compose your poem. Once you integrate the notes from your dream, you want to establish continuity. This will not only keep your reader wanting to continue reading the poem, but also provide a tight story, regardless of how many elements of your dream are included. Since dreams in themselves tend to have a fantasy like quality to them, do not worry if your poem starts to seem unrealistic once you have composed it and read it over. Check your spelling for errors. Include punctuation where necessary, although you can include it in spots if you want to go the experimental route. If you wish, you can also include within the poem the actual date of your dream. Be creative and keep a record of your work so you can refer back to when you wrote it.
The Perfect Real Estate
Heat coming out of the ground
wayward feet searching for the
right planet to land on
hopscotch from star to star
which family is the right one to join
not the one where your life
is behind your back
not the one where you
are significantly different
not the one where
they walk on their hands
all day long.
In this poem I draw from my own background experience which is integrated into the dream. After your lead-in is written down - and it can be anything from something to a mundane activity like going to the post office, to seeing a new work of art - you are ready to compose your poem. Once you integrate the notes from your dream, you want to establish continuity. This will not only keep your reader wanting to continue reading the poem, but also provide a tight story, regardless of how many elements of your dream are included. Since dreams in themselves tend to have a fantasy like quality to them, do not worry if your poem starts to seem unrealistic once you have composed it and read it over. Check your spelling for errors. Include punctuation where necessary, although you can include it in spots if you want to go the experimental route. If you wish, you can also include within the poem the actual date of your dream. Be creative and keep a record of your work so you can refer back to when you wrote it.
The Perfect Real Estate, copyrighted by Julie Kovacs, 2007.
Zoroastrian poems
I thought I would share these with my readers:
The Sacred Fire
Sacred as the symbol of God
sacred as the symbol of the soul
the fire burns in the temple
and inside each of us
always waiting to be ignited
by the active force of Ahura Mazda
that leads us to doing the Good Will on earth.
Right thought, right word, and right deed
is communicated by the divine flame
that directs us through the Good Mind.
There is nothing better than building
paradise on earth to overcome
that which is destructive to creation.
Seeking a positive way of life
with the One who is the creator of the universe
the mind, heart, and soul
becomes the one goal for each human.
Yalda
Sitting around the warm stove
with a wool blanket tucked in my lap
I listen to the poetry of Hafiz being recited
by the man sitting opposite me
while a plate of samanu and oranges
is passed on to me.
The sun is waiting to rise
above the horizon
on the longest night of the year
when darkness ceases to overtake
the earth,
swallowed up by time
when light finally triumphs.
Six pomegranate seeds are consumed
by each of us, the sweet and slightly tart flavor
reminding us how the earth slowly warms
under the snowy mountains.
On the day Mithra is born
the earth witnesses peace and happiness,
waiting for the new life to spring forth.
Heaven on Earth
Eyes raised to the sun
standing with hands outstretched
holding the sacred prayer cord
invoking the name of Ahura Mazda
establishes sanctity and peace on earth
in one's life
in one's family
in one's homeland
where the faithful work diligently
whether for money or not
service to humankind
brings closer together
the harmony required
for prosperity to exist
on earth.
All poems have been reprinted with permission of the author, Mary Thatcher. These originally appeared on Associated Content/Yahoo Contributor Network.
The Sacred Fire
Sacred as the symbol of God
sacred as the symbol of the soul
the fire burns in the temple
and inside each of us
always waiting to be ignited
by the active force of Ahura Mazda
that leads us to doing the Good Will on earth.
Right thought, right word, and right deed
is communicated by the divine flame
that directs us through the Good Mind.
There is nothing better than building
paradise on earth to overcome
that which is destructive to creation.
Seeking a positive way of life
with the One who is the creator of the universe
the mind, heart, and soul
becomes the one goal for each human.
Yalda
Sitting around the warm stove
with a wool blanket tucked in my lap
I listen to the poetry of Hafiz being recited
by the man sitting opposite me
while a plate of samanu and oranges
is passed on to me.
The sun is waiting to rise
above the horizon
on the longest night of the year
when darkness ceases to overtake
the earth,
swallowed up by time
when light finally triumphs.
Six pomegranate seeds are consumed
by each of us, the sweet and slightly tart flavor
reminding us how the earth slowly warms
under the snowy mountains.
On the day Mithra is born
the earth witnesses peace and happiness,
waiting for the new life to spring forth.
Heaven on Earth
Eyes raised to the sun
standing with hands outstretched
holding the sacred prayer cord
invoking the name of Ahura Mazda
establishes sanctity and peace on earth
in one's life
in one's family
in one's homeland
where the faithful work diligently
whether for money or not
service to humankind
brings closer together
the harmony required
for prosperity to exist
on earth.
All poems have been reprinted with permission of the author, Mary Thatcher. These originally appeared on Associated Content/Yahoo Contributor Network.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
My first short story published!
I am very happy to announce that my very first short story has been published by The Pepper Tree. The title of my story is: "The Baby Princess."
The Pepper Tree Magazine
This is a story about a baby princess who a king from long ago adopts as his own.
More information about the publication at:
The Herald Tribune
The Pepper Tree Magazine
This is a story about a baby princess who a king from long ago adopts as his own.
More information about the publication at:
The Herald Tribune
A huge thank you to all of my supporters!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Illogical Muse Winter 2009
My poem titled "This Is A Milkshake?" has been published in the Winter 2009 issue of Illogical Muse. My thanks to Amber Rothrock for selecting my poem for publication. To read the poem, click the link below:
Enjoy!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Poem of the Week
It's Here - No It's There
silence
dandelion fuzz floating
no sound of landing
on a squirrel's head.
Did you think I could be fooled?
It's always “she said” “she said” “she said”
alienating attendee
never going to any events
while that half-written poem
awaits printing
hungry for black ink
on a virgin paper
there is nothing else to be done
a half-eaten cupcake
on top of the LCD monitor
the cat sits on.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs.
silence
dandelion fuzz floating
no sound of landing
on a squirrel's head.
Did you think I could be fooled?
It's always “she said” “she said” “she said”
alienating attendee
never going to any events
while that half-written poem
awaits printing
hungry for black ink
on a virgin paper
there is nothing else to be done
a half-eaten cupcake
on top of the LCD monitor
the cat sits on.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Poem of the Week
The Stone Warriors
Four teeth from the dragon statue
were thrown upon the ground
stone warriors of the castle guardian
brought to life
flank
left right
right left
facing the gate
fearless gamer never turning away
obliterated each of them
cracking the whip of death.
Copyright 2009, Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
Four teeth from the dragon statue
were thrown upon the ground
stone warriors of the castle guardian
brought to life
flank
left right
right left
facing the gate
fearless gamer never turning away
obliterated each of them
cracking the whip of death.
Copyright 2009, Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
Turn Your Dream Into a Poem, Part 1
This entry is part of a series on how to write poems:
Turn Your Dream Into a Poem, Part 1
Some people like to document what they dream of in a special journal, but dreams can also appear as part of a story or even a poem. For some people, composing a poem based on a dream may feel next to impossible, especially if only part of a dream is remembered, while the rest of it remains blacked out during our waking hours. Usually the most powerful dreams are memorable in detail, and they needn't be nightmares, either. Provided it is a wonderful enough dream, something that really is worth remembering, it is not hard to construct a plot for the poem that will essentially recount the dream to readers.
It has been said that poetry reflects the soul of the poet, and for many poets, this is nothing new. Poets draw their inspiration from many places and events; in my case, I draw much of my work from my own background, whether it is during the waking or sleeping hours, thus the title “The Biographical Poet.”
In this manner, poetry is a cathartic means as well as being able to communicate certain events of my life which no doubt will resonate with a number of readers out there. Life is not always a bowl of cherries, but when life hands you a lemon, you turn it into a poem. Getting back to dreams and writing a poem about one, following is an exercise for all writers and poets who think they are unable to write down in detail a dream they had last night.
Take out a piece of paper (or open your word processor). Do not write down any titles for your poem; always save the title after the poem is complete. In the first line, write down the one thing you remember most about the dream. It can be a house, a building, or even a church. Describe this in detail as best you can.
Starting a second paragraph, write down any conclusion you can remember in association with the dream. Even if details are foggy, include them in the document. By this time it is possible you may have remembered something else about the dream, so write that down either before the main subject of the dream, or afterwards, depending on where it occurred.
By now this may look like note taking for an English literature class on a poem taught in class. These notes, however, will eventually be crafted into a poem that is fluid and tell a story, however fantastic it may seem.
To be continued.
Turn Your Dream Into a Poem, Part 1
Some people like to document what they dream of in a special journal, but dreams can also appear as part of a story or even a poem. For some people, composing a poem based on a dream may feel next to impossible, especially if only part of a dream is remembered, while the rest of it remains blacked out during our waking hours. Usually the most powerful dreams are memorable in detail, and they needn't be nightmares, either. Provided it is a wonderful enough dream, something that really is worth remembering, it is not hard to construct a plot for the poem that will essentially recount the dream to readers.
It has been said that poetry reflects the soul of the poet, and for many poets, this is nothing new. Poets draw their inspiration from many places and events; in my case, I draw much of my work from my own background, whether it is during the waking or sleeping hours, thus the title “The Biographical Poet.”
In this manner, poetry is a cathartic means as well as being able to communicate certain events of my life which no doubt will resonate with a number of readers out there. Life is not always a bowl of cherries, but when life hands you a lemon, you turn it into a poem. Getting back to dreams and writing a poem about one, following is an exercise for all writers and poets who think they are unable to write down in detail a dream they had last night.
Take out a piece of paper (or open your word processor). Do not write down any titles for your poem; always save the title after the poem is complete. In the first line, write down the one thing you remember most about the dream. It can be a house, a building, or even a church. Describe this in detail as best you can.
Starting a second paragraph, write down any conclusion you can remember in association with the dream. Even if details are foggy, include them in the document. By this time it is possible you may have remembered something else about the dream, so write that down either before the main subject of the dream, or afterwards, depending on where it occurred.
By now this may look like note taking for an English literature class on a poem taught in class. These notes, however, will eventually be crafted into a poem that is fluid and tell a story, however fantastic it may seem.
To be continued.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Poem of the Week
The Swimming Bird
A funny looking bird poked his head up from the lake
before going under, swimming a few feet
and surfacing once again.
Looking for fish for his noonday meal
they avoid him by poking their heads
up above water right behind him
imitating his every move.
By the time the bird leaves the lake
and heads off for the bushes at twilight
the fish settle in their homes
until morning comes.
A funny looking bird poked his head up from the lake
before going under, swimming a few feet
and surfacing once again.
Looking for fish for his noonday meal
they avoid him by poking their heads
up above water right behind him
imitating his every move.
By the time the bird leaves the lake
and heads off for the bushes at twilight
the fish settle in their homes
until morning comes.
Copyright 2009 by Julie Kovacs.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Poem of the Week
By the Lake With a Heron
Sitting by a lake
sharing lunch with a snowy heron
munching on a tuna fish salad
evergreens shadow the bushes
where the birds sleep at night.
Paradise was never more peaceful
a lover and her beloved sitting on the grass
in front of the clouds forming a wall against the sky.
Copyright, 2009. Julie Kovacs
Sitting by a lake
sharing lunch with a snowy heron
munching on a tuna fish salad
evergreens shadow the bushes
where the birds sleep at night.
Paradise was never more peaceful
a lover and her beloved sitting on the grass
in front of the clouds forming a wall against the sky.
Copyright, 2009. Julie Kovacs
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Poem of the Week
Sunday at the Temple
The rain fell that Sunday afternoon
outside the temple where the eternal flame burned bright
the tiny hallway where red leather covered books were kept
saw a cat snoozing in a pool of light
the guardian of the temple
who kept mice away
and always received a portion of meat
shared by the priest
who always looked after her
when she was not greeting the worshipers who
came every week.
The rain fell that Sunday afternoon
outside the temple where the eternal flame burned bright
the tiny hallway where red leather covered books were kept
saw a cat snoozing in a pool of light
the guardian of the temple
who kept mice away
and always received a portion of meat
shared by the priest
who always looked after her
when she was not greeting the worshipers who
came every week.
Copyright 2009, Julie Kovacs.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Introducing William Allingham
I was first introduced to Allingham's poetry when I was very young. Some of his works appear in "The Magic Casement" but he has also written poems for adults, too, not just children. Born in Ireland in 1824 (some sources say 1828) he wrote delightful poems like "The Fairies", "The Leprechaun", and "Twilight Voices." This is poetry for the individual who loves delving into the world of fantasy and magic. I hope you enjoy his work as much as I do. His poetry can be read at Project Gutenberg:
Sixteen Poems, William Allingham
Sixteen Poems, William Allingham
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Silver Blade Poetry Publication
"Landing on Island #2" is up! Silver Blade did a great job coordinating the background with my poem. Enjoy, everyone, and thank you for all of your support!
http://www.silverblade.net/issue4/landing.html
http://www.silverblade.net/issue4/landing.html
Monday, September 7, 2009
Poem of the Week
Enjoy!
A Night at Camp
The campfire crackled as we lay
outside our tents on woven straw mats
watching the white moths flitter in and out
dancing like they were in a ballroom
our entertainment after our supper of
hotdogs and French fries
with cupcakes for dessert.
A river birch stood behind the fire
the colors of the bark showing brightly
in orange, pink, and lavender
while the leaves gently blew in the breeze.
I laid against your chest wondering if this
could be our outdoor castle
far away from everything else
at one with each other
in our own paradise.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
A Night at Camp
The campfire crackled as we lay
outside our tents on woven straw mats
watching the white moths flitter in and out
dancing like they were in a ballroom
our entertainment after our supper of
hotdogs and French fries
with cupcakes for dessert.
A river birch stood behind the fire
the colors of the bark showing brightly
in orange, pink, and lavender
while the leaves gently blew in the breeze.
I laid against your chest wondering if this
could be our outdoor castle
far away from everything else
at one with each other
in our own paradise.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The Magic Casement
"The Magic Casement" was one of my favorite poetry books as a child. Edited by Alfred Noyes, this book contained all kinds of poems pertaining to the world of enchantment: fairies, pixies, magic, goblins, and whatnot. Authors include: Shakespeare, John Lyly, Michael Drayton, Sir Walter Scott, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and Matthew Arnold, plus many more. The cover of the book was red with a beautiful gold design, including gold edging which was common on books during the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, when this was first published. The original printing is hard to find - I bought my copy at a used library book sale - but the good news is the book can be read online. Click on the link below to read the text of "The Magic Casement":
The Magic Casement
I hope all of my readers enjoy one of my personal favorites!
The Magic Casement
I hope all of my readers enjoy one of my personal favorites!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Silver Blade Poetry publication
A heads up to all of my regular poetry readers: I will have a poem published in Silver Blade, Issue 4. The poem's title is "Landing on Island #2." I am delighted that Silver Blade chose to publish this one since I have had it in my files for awhile now. A very big thank you to all of my supporters!
http://www.silverblade.net/
http://www.silverblade.net/
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Poem of the Week
Let Me Dream
When we first met you were a stranger
it took a long time for love to grow
once in full blossom it seemed to not
remain that way but grow fuller each year
the immortal plant living between heaven and earth
floating endlessly on the waters where there is nothing
to think about while having the moonlight dancing
off our bodies as we lay upon a sandbar
surrounded by dancing porpoises
singing from a far off land
by the time we awaken the next morning
we are back home
where we were before
lying on the grassy hill
overlooking fields of wandflowers, bluebells, and lupines.
Copyright 2009. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
When we first met you were a stranger
it took a long time for love to grow
once in full blossom it seemed to not
remain that way but grow fuller each year
the immortal plant living between heaven and earth
floating endlessly on the waters where there is nothing
to think about while having the moonlight dancing
off our bodies as we lay upon a sandbar
surrounded by dancing porpoises
singing from a far off land
by the time we awaken the next morning
we are back home
where we were before
lying on the grassy hill
overlooking fields of wandflowers, bluebells, and lupines.
Copyright 2009. Not to be reproduced without permission from the author.
Friday, August 28, 2009
In the Belly of the Beast Lexus Final Chapter Contest
Back by popular demand, here is my submission to the Lexus "In the Belly of the Beast" Final Chapter Contest that ended with a winner and four honorable mentions in January 2009. The winning final chapter appears in the February 2009 issue of Lexus magazine, so if anyone has a copy they are willing to sell to me, please contact me. Thank you everyone for your support! J.K./M.H.
Finally At Home
Feeling anxious but self assured, Julia completed her first day on the job at Google. Her new boss, Merry Roma, turned out to be dynamic not only as a boss but as a real confidant, a rare quality in female bosses. The shoes she finally bought were from an outlet store off the highway where she and Terence stopped because he also wanted lunch. The only restaurant in sight was a Sonic, taking him back to the good old days of eating at drive-ins on Saturday nights. But they finally made it to their destination, and on time, because Julia wanted to look awake for the first day of her new job. Terence had stayed at home playing with Larry. Larry, the little dog that Julia remembered first seeing in a box with other heeler pups back in New Mexico where the man offered the dogs for free. The guy looked like he was from Boulder instead of New Mexico, Julia thought to herself. Hippie. Mountain hippie. Her refuge bringing and getting her through all kinds of minor stops, each time, driving farther away from each one. The jungle wedding in Las Vegas. Bwana Jim, the paper loincloths and general craziness of it all, feeling like two five year olds going through the motion of marriage just to play house. Not the Napa Valley wedding Julia had hoped to experience, and no chance of seeing Mr. Lowdown himself there, either. Driving home, Julia entered through the front door and found Terence playing with Larry on the floor, throwing him a blue ball which he chased and retrieved for Terence. It was that color blue, the same blue of the Beast.
“Hi Sweetheart. How was the Google job?” he asked her, as she kicked off her black shoes and collapsed onto the divan. She smiled at him and rubbed her feet with her right hand.
“It went well. I even talked to my boss. Mexico. Merry said she lived in San Felipe for a year and loved it. A real tropical utopia. Guess what? We can go there, too, in three months. I can finish this one major project at Google then get some time off. And we can bring Larry with us, too. What do you think?”
Terence looked at her as he thought over what she just said to him. He had a little, enigmatic smile on his face, looking just like the character of Otto from the 1953 film Houdini. He really wanted to stay where they are now for awhile, so that he could at least get a job teaching about cannibals in Los Angeles. At UCLA, of course – where else? “What do I think?” he slowly repeated as he gently stroked Larry's head. “I think I should at least give you the good news, Julie. I received a call from Auntie M&M. The spell she cast will help find a cure for AIDS, which is why Brian gave me the package to make sure it was hand delivered to her. The Cannibal Man to the rescue, not losing sight of what he is supposed to do. But now Julia was on her feet, pattering down the hallway of their new home to the bedroom where she quickly took off her work clothes and threw on a pair of Levis and a white knit pullover. She returned to the living room and put on the television set. Terence was in the kitchen making cinnamon cappuccino for them. He yet had to mention what he did all day besides play with Larry, who really looked more like a Paco than a Larry to Julia. But he returned, handing her the porcelain cup she got last Christmas, red in color with white clouds on it. Clouds that looked like they belonged in the east coast sky, not the sky of southern California. The cappuccino was hot and not too spicy, just the way she liked it. “I remember how Peter liked the same cappuccino. In fact, he showed me how to make it. That, along with tatting. The coffee I can do but not the tatting.” Wasn't there anything else Terence was able to talk about besides cappuccino and tatting, Julia thought. I can just picture it, The Cannibal Man tatting doilies to be placed on cherry wood dressers.
“I have an idea, Terence, why don't we eat out tonight? It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy so I don't have to change clothes again.” Julia noticed Terence was wearing his jeans with a gray polo shirt. Terence wondered if Julia had a diner in mind. As if he read her mind, she responded, “A burger or sandwich will do.” Terence was hoping to treat her to a real meal complete with wine and caviar to celebrate her first day on the job. But, if all she wanted was a hamburger... his thoughts trailed back to Peter, thinking the only reason he was happy with Brian is because he did not have to put up with a female. Mom, the queen cougar of them all. A batch of Press-a-Pennies with the Lord's Prayer embossed on them. What was Terence to think? He was supposed to be happy with Julia, and while he was happy for her getting the Google job at the west coast office, his brain was in Cannibal Land, according to Julia. Terence didn't think he had the potential to become a vorarephile and he was fairly sure that Julia didn't, either. Terence did not want to admit to himself that his wife would be making more money than he, and he was the one with the PhD between them. Putting on his shoes, Terence saw Julia stand before him with her car key in her left hand, asking him if he was ready to go. Outside, standing in front of the IS F, they took off down the road, to a diner for supper and then, bed.
Tags:
Finally At Home
Feeling anxious but self assured, Julia completed her first day on the job at Google. Her new boss, Merry Roma, turned out to be dynamic not only as a boss but as a real confidant, a rare quality in female bosses. The shoes she finally bought were from an outlet store off the highway where she and Terence stopped because he also wanted lunch. The only restaurant in sight was a Sonic, taking him back to the good old days of eating at drive-ins on Saturday nights. But they finally made it to their destination, and on time, because Julia wanted to look awake for the first day of her new job. Terence had stayed at home playing with Larry. Larry, the little dog that Julia remembered first seeing in a box with other heeler pups back in New Mexico where the man offered the dogs for free. The guy looked like he was from Boulder instead of New Mexico, Julia thought to herself. Hippie. Mountain hippie. Her refuge bringing and getting her through all kinds of minor stops, each time, driving farther away from each one. The jungle wedding in Las Vegas. Bwana Jim, the paper loincloths and general craziness of it all, feeling like two five year olds going through the motion of marriage just to play house. Not the Napa Valley wedding Julia had hoped to experience, and no chance of seeing Mr. Lowdown himself there, either. Driving home, Julia entered through the front door and found Terence playing with Larry on the floor, throwing him a blue ball which he chased and retrieved for Terence. It was that color blue, the same blue of the Beast.
“Hi Sweetheart. How was the Google job?” he asked her, as she kicked off her black shoes and collapsed onto the divan. She smiled at him and rubbed her feet with her right hand.
“It went well. I even talked to my boss. Mexico. Merry said she lived in San Felipe for a year and loved it. A real tropical utopia. Guess what? We can go there, too, in three months. I can finish this one major project at Google then get some time off. And we can bring Larry with us, too. What do you think?”
Terence looked at her as he thought over what she just said to him. He had a little, enigmatic smile on his face, looking just like the character of Otto from the 1953 film Houdini. He really wanted to stay where they are now for awhile, so that he could at least get a job teaching about cannibals in Los Angeles. At UCLA, of course – where else? “What do I think?” he slowly repeated as he gently stroked Larry's head. “I think I should at least give you the good news, Julie. I received a call from Auntie M&M. The spell she cast will help find a cure for AIDS, which is why Brian gave me the package to make sure it was hand delivered to her. The Cannibal Man to the rescue, not losing sight of what he is supposed to do. But now Julia was on her feet, pattering down the hallway of their new home to the bedroom where she quickly took off her work clothes and threw on a pair of Levis and a white knit pullover. She returned to the living room and put on the television set. Terence was in the kitchen making cinnamon cappuccino for them. He yet had to mention what he did all day besides play with Larry, who really looked more like a Paco than a Larry to Julia. But he returned, handing her the porcelain cup she got last Christmas, red in color with white clouds on it. Clouds that looked like they belonged in the east coast sky, not the sky of southern California. The cappuccino was hot and not too spicy, just the way she liked it. “I remember how Peter liked the same cappuccino. In fact, he showed me how to make it. That, along with tatting. The coffee I can do but not the tatting.” Wasn't there anything else Terence was able to talk about besides cappuccino and tatting, Julia thought. I can just picture it, The Cannibal Man tatting doilies to be placed on cherry wood dressers.
“I have an idea, Terence, why don't we eat out tonight? It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy so I don't have to change clothes again.” Julia noticed Terence was wearing his jeans with a gray polo shirt. Terence wondered if Julia had a diner in mind. As if he read her mind, she responded, “A burger or sandwich will do.” Terence was hoping to treat her to a real meal complete with wine and caviar to celebrate her first day on the job. But, if all she wanted was a hamburger... his thoughts trailed back to Peter, thinking the only reason he was happy with Brian is because he did not have to put up with a female. Mom, the queen cougar of them all. A batch of Press-a-Pennies with the Lord's Prayer embossed on them. What was Terence to think? He was supposed to be happy with Julia, and while he was happy for her getting the Google job at the west coast office, his brain was in Cannibal Land, according to Julia. Terence didn't think he had the potential to become a vorarephile and he was fairly sure that Julia didn't, either. Terence did not want to admit to himself that his wife would be making more money than he, and he was the one with the PhD between them. Putting on his shoes, Terence saw Julia stand before him with her car key in her left hand, asking him if he was ready to go. Outside, standing in front of the IS F, they took off down the road, to a diner for supper and then, bed.
Tags:
August 28 Poem of the Week
Dragonfly Realm
Two red dragonflies led us down the path
deep into the woods
where their home by the pond lay.
There was a delicate giggle behind us
was it from the wood sprites?
that eventually disappeared into thin air
just like the smoke from a log cabin beyond
the forest's edge.
A much louder laugh - no, a bark
dissipated into the air
coming from the prairie dogs
cheerily celebrating the night air
as the sun went down in the west.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reprinted without permission from the author.
Two red dragonflies led us down the path
deep into the woods
where their home by the pond lay.
There was a delicate giggle behind us
was it from the wood sprites?
that eventually disappeared into thin air
just like the smoke from a log cabin beyond
the forest's edge.
A much louder laugh - no, a bark
dissipated into the air
coming from the prairie dogs
cheerily celebrating the night air
as the sun went down in the west.
Copyright 2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reprinted without permission from the author.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Silver Moonbeams and The Emerald Grail
Even though these appear on my main website, I will repost them here with eventual links in the sidebar. Thank you to everyone who looks at my work!
The Emerald Grail. Julie's second book of poetry. Some of the poems in this book have already appeared in other literary publications in print and electronic media. A delightful collection of poetry.
Silver Moonbeams: Dream Lover. Poems from the heart speaking to the Beloved.
The Emerald Grail. Julie's second book of poetry. Some of the poems in this book have already appeared in other literary publications in print and electronic media. A delightful collection of poetry.
Silver Moonbeams: Dream Lover. Poems from the heart speaking to the Beloved.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
"The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson", edited by Thomas H. Johnson, is a comprehensive book of Emily's poetry and contains every poem she wrote during her lifetime. Only a very few of her poems were published when she was alive, perhaps due to her peers and publishers not recognizing her brilliant work as being innovative during the nineteenth century. Emily remains a favorite today for many Americans. This book is something that should be a part of every poetry lover's collection. Available from Amazon for $14.95.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Poem of the Week Feature
Poem of the Week
I have decided to start a “Poem of the Week” feature in my blog. Every week I will post a poem I wrote that will not appear anywhere else. Enjoy this week's feature!
On a Fall Picnic in 2009
The mountaintop sang
sounding like a bass
without any vocal accompaniment.
Slowly
the
sound
decreased
a
faint
tiny
whistle
heard
from
a
train
in
the
next
town
over.
It followed me
everywhere I went,
the local post office
the library
the new artisan shop
where sterling silver
was made to be displayed
on the living room fireplace mantle.
One sterling teapot sang the same song
when it was full of hibiscus tea and shared
with the unexpected guests,
a local family of rabbits and a dragonfly,
who drank the tea after the picnic
on a Wednesday afternoon during the fall of 2009.
I have decided to start a “Poem of the Week” feature in my blog. Every week I will post a poem I wrote that will not appear anywhere else. Enjoy this week's feature!
On a Fall Picnic in 2009
The mountaintop sang
sounding like a bass
without any vocal accompaniment.
Slowly
the
sound
decreased
a
faint
tiny
whistle
heard
from
a
train
in
the
next
town
over.
It followed me
everywhere I went,
the local post office
the library
the new artisan shop
where sterling silver
was made to be displayed
on the living room fireplace mantle.
One sterling teapot sang the same song
when it was full of hibiscus tea and shared
with the unexpected guests,
a local family of rabbits and a dragonfly,
who drank the tea after the picnic
on a Wednesday afternoon during the fall of 2009.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sixty Wild and Sweet Poems of Hafiz
Hafiz has long been one of my favorite poets in the world of Sufi poetry. Below is one of his books worth reading if you love Sufi poetry:
A brief description:
To Persians, the fourteenth-century poems of Hafiz are not classical literature from a remote past, but cherished love, wisdom, and humor from a dear and intimate friend. Perhaps, more than any other Persian poet, it is Hafiz who most fully accesses the mystical, healing dimensions of poetry. Daniel Ladinsky has made it his life's work to create modern, inspired translations of the world's most profound spiritual poetry. Through Ladinsky's translations, Hafiz's voice comes alive across the centuries singing his message of love.Daniel Ladinsky is the translator of The Giftand Love Poems from God. For six years he lived with the family of Meher Baba in a spiritual community in western India.
This book will make a great addition to any collection of Sufi or Persian literature.
A brief description:
To Persians, the fourteenth-century poems of Hafiz are not classical literature from a remote past, but cherished love, wisdom, and humor from a dear and intimate friend. Perhaps, more than any other Persian poet, it is Hafiz who most fully accesses the mystical, healing dimensions of poetry. Daniel Ladinsky has made it his life's work to create modern, inspired translations of the world's most profound spiritual poetry. Through Ladinsky's translations, Hafiz's voice comes alive across the centuries singing his message of love.Daniel Ladinsky is the translator of The Giftand Love Poems from God. For six years he lived with the family of Meher Baba in a spiritual community in western India.
This book will make a great addition to any collection of Sufi or Persian literature.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Poems from Purple Dream
Here are some poems that appeared in Purple Dream and the dates published:
Published August 2007:
Running With Rabbits
Signaling with my extended right pinky to
the ferret waving to me he picked
up on my code signal and ran into the kitchen
to bring me a glass of grapefruit juice
and a piece of vanilla cake.
Jumping into my lap for chin scratching and
words of reward what he really wanted
to hear was if he was going to finally get a new
BMW for his birthday so he could cruise
around town and pick up the most popular bunnies.
Published December 2007:
Walls
Four walls surrounding me
four white walls with no windows and one small doorway
walls bare of any pictures or paintings
the walls start to look like prison bars
suffocating space
even though I can walk around
and enter and exit the doorway
into a room with another four walls like the first one.
A caged animal feels freer
lurking around the corner of the wall
where the doorway leads to the cell where I sleep.
Did I say cell?
I meant room, of course.
I would never be placed into a cell
with nowhere to go
nothing to do or see
when I have my best friends
with me all the time
living on the ceiling to floor shelves
Sand, Maupassant, Colette and Zola
in residence free of rent or lease
owned and loved by me
there is always more room
within these walls for new residents
next week, Dumas and Flaubert are moving in with me.
Published December 2007:
Interspecific Apposition
Peacock vibrant azure
glanced at me displaying
his tail enigmatic smile
a pickup line normally
common only this one
spoke into my heart
the bar I met him at
offered nectar created
by the butterflies
served by dragonflies
tending the intoxicating drinks
whispering among themselves
how he came here once
a week on the same time
at the same time seeking
that one perfect mate
craning his neck he faced me
investigating my appearance
and inquiring about my health
he wanted to be sure his
potential mate would be able to
provide him with the attention
needed and a successor immortal
when his tail delicately brushed
my right cheek signifying it
was time to leave with him
leaving the bar I followed him
back to his nesting ground
when he blinked his eyes at me
and finally spoke,
“Thank you for being the vessel
of my life.”
Published January 2008:
Today’s Event
The letter at the bottom of the stairs
had the right address on it
from down south where
my cousin’s best friend
went to college
to study chemistry and rhetoric.
He was the only guy I knew who
read Diderot as a hobby and
collected medieval artwork
of fabulous animals
that visited Alfred’s court.
Once we got to know each other
he extensively shared memories
of his days at Hampden Sydney
and never forgot to mention
every time how he was the center
for the basketball team
and never missed a game during
his entire academic career.
He once sang the entire catalog of
Queen songs for a contest during spring break
winning first place and the prize was
a fortune cookie from the Chinese take out
restaurant over on Fifth Street.
More often than not he would visit me
first when he came to town, even before
he went to the automotive store
to look at the new radials.
Published February 2008:
Fervent Dulcitude
Conversation entailing words unexplored
one person observing in silence
peering into a territory forbidden to
discover a monster unleashed
a heavy door quickly shut and bolted
intrusion prevented soon enough
a rare beautiful flower nurtured to its
fullest growth happy in a house
every day a celebration with
a salad and corn on the cob
filet mignons French fries with cookies and cakes
for dessert while sitting in front
of a fireplace descending into a world
secure free from stress and obstacles
to our shimmering limbs welded into a
solitary container vibrating
constantly changing shape but never
cracking open to release
this feeling of quiescence supreme.
Published March 2008:
Sealed Affection
Two swans on a crystal lake
the female of the birds leans over
to nuzzle her mate for life
necks embracing feathers
gently caressing creating sparks
of desire while the lucid breeze
among the cypress trees
dances in the sky
clouds disappear behind the
two moons shining upon
each of the birds transformed
into two spirits floating
through eternity.
Published April 2008:
Meeting Through the Glass
Billowing pillow upright in front of my face
perfect for me to smother my frustrations in
rubbing to the left
rubbing to the right
rubbing up
rubbing down
hands covering
strong sweet refuge
transformation into living
breathing warmth
permanent lingering
across space and time
unexpected always present
repeatedly solicited squeezes
unique from the giver himself.
Published May 2008:
Midnight Stroll
Awoken early in the twilight morning
by the tepid air breathe scintillating
particles upon my face
I felt my heartbeat slow after
exultation the touch that never
left the night before
that was the same feeling
potentiate since it commenced
two years ago
obliteration of tiny insignificant
particles extraneous
useless and undue
for our present arrangement
being at one
divorced from the grasp of
super curious eyes mouths and hands
that have unknowingly been shielded
by an impervious wall unseen by
everyone but us.
Published May 2008:
Bold Journey
A narrow dirt road winding around a lake
lined by tall grass leading through a forest
where the party resides among the unseen
people laughing drinking nectar from the
honeysuckle trees and garlands of wildflowers
tossed about each person’s neck bidding farewell
to each passerby who stopped to join but had
a more pressing engagement further up the road
empty spots by the sides were a combination of
bleak and lively too common for the traveler
to want to take part of.
Winding up to a small hill the path is covered
by a whipped sugar fog welcoming an appropriate
end right up to five small headstones
each one read slowly anticipation of my own name
on the last one where I am supposed
to be buried but I am not.
Published July, 2008:
Flight Into Watery Space
New shoes with heels in the clouds
747 forty fighter jets
circling in harmonious speed
straight down the runway
feet racing
trajectory parallel
sight speeding through a tunnel
ninety miles per hour
headfirst the temperature of the water
changing from warm to cold to warm
to boiling slowly emerging
cleansed whole
scent of marigolds and lilacs
sprinkled forth from a void
collecting into a pool at
the bottom of my feet.
Published July, 2008:
Two Cicadas
Two cicadas hovered
above the lilac leaves
past their season
one hopped onto
page 112 of a psychology book
while the other
gazed at a painting
by Rousseau, "The Waterfall",
thinking that
one of the grass huts
was the honeymoon home
just for them.
All poems Copyright 2007-2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without consent from the author.
Published August 2007:
Running With Rabbits
Signaling with my extended right pinky to
the ferret waving to me he picked
up on my code signal and ran into the kitchen
to bring me a glass of grapefruit juice
and a piece of vanilla cake.
Jumping into my lap for chin scratching and
words of reward what he really wanted
to hear was if he was going to finally get a new
BMW for his birthday so he could cruise
around town and pick up the most popular bunnies.
Published December 2007:
Walls
Four walls surrounding me
four white walls with no windows and one small doorway
walls bare of any pictures or paintings
the walls start to look like prison bars
suffocating space
even though I can walk around
and enter and exit the doorway
into a room with another four walls like the first one.
A caged animal feels freer
lurking around the corner of the wall
where the doorway leads to the cell where I sleep.
Did I say cell?
I meant room, of course.
I would never be placed into a cell
with nowhere to go
nothing to do or see
when I have my best friends
with me all the time
living on the ceiling to floor shelves
Sand, Maupassant, Colette and Zola
in residence free of rent or lease
owned and loved by me
there is always more room
within these walls for new residents
next week, Dumas and Flaubert are moving in with me.
Published December 2007:
Interspecific Apposition
Peacock vibrant azure
glanced at me displaying
his tail enigmatic smile
a pickup line normally
common only this one
spoke into my heart
the bar I met him at
offered nectar created
by the butterflies
served by dragonflies
tending the intoxicating drinks
whispering among themselves
how he came here once
a week on the same time
at the same time seeking
that one perfect mate
craning his neck he faced me
investigating my appearance
and inquiring about my health
he wanted to be sure his
potential mate would be able to
provide him with the attention
needed and a successor immortal
when his tail delicately brushed
my right cheek signifying it
was time to leave with him
leaving the bar I followed him
back to his nesting ground
when he blinked his eyes at me
and finally spoke,
“Thank you for being the vessel
of my life.”
Published January 2008:
Today’s Event
The letter at the bottom of the stairs
had the right address on it
from down south where
my cousin’s best friend
went to college
to study chemistry and rhetoric.
He was the only guy I knew who
read Diderot as a hobby and
collected medieval artwork
of fabulous animals
that visited Alfred’s court.
Once we got to know each other
he extensively shared memories
of his days at Hampden Sydney
and never forgot to mention
every time how he was the center
for the basketball team
and never missed a game during
his entire academic career.
He once sang the entire catalog of
Queen songs for a contest during spring break
winning first place and the prize was
a fortune cookie from the Chinese take out
restaurant over on Fifth Street.
More often than not he would visit me
first when he came to town, even before
he went to the automotive store
to look at the new radials.
Published February 2008:
Fervent Dulcitude
Conversation entailing words unexplored
one person observing in silence
peering into a territory forbidden to
discover a monster unleashed
a heavy door quickly shut and bolted
intrusion prevented soon enough
a rare beautiful flower nurtured to its
fullest growth happy in a house
every day a celebration with
a salad and corn on the cob
filet mignons French fries with cookies and cakes
for dessert while sitting in front
of a fireplace descending into a world
secure free from stress and obstacles
to our shimmering limbs welded into a
solitary container vibrating
constantly changing shape but never
cracking open to release
this feeling of quiescence supreme.
Published March 2008:
Sealed Affection
Two swans on a crystal lake
the female of the birds leans over
to nuzzle her mate for life
necks embracing feathers
gently caressing creating sparks
of desire while the lucid breeze
among the cypress trees
dances in the sky
clouds disappear behind the
two moons shining upon
each of the birds transformed
into two spirits floating
through eternity.
Published April 2008:
Meeting Through the Glass
Billowing pillow upright in front of my face
perfect for me to smother my frustrations in
rubbing to the left
rubbing to the right
rubbing up
rubbing down
hands covering
strong sweet refuge
transformation into living
breathing warmth
permanent lingering
across space and time
unexpected always present
repeatedly solicited squeezes
unique from the giver himself.
Published May 2008:
Midnight Stroll
Awoken early in the twilight morning
by the tepid air breathe scintillating
particles upon my face
I felt my heartbeat slow after
exultation the touch that never
left the night before
that was the same feeling
potentiate since it commenced
two years ago
obliteration of tiny insignificant
particles extraneous
useless and undue
for our present arrangement
being at one
divorced from the grasp of
super curious eyes mouths and hands
that have unknowingly been shielded
by an impervious wall unseen by
everyone but us.
Published May 2008:
Bold Journey
A narrow dirt road winding around a lake
lined by tall grass leading through a forest
where the party resides among the unseen
people laughing drinking nectar from the
honeysuckle trees and garlands of wildflowers
tossed about each person’s neck bidding farewell
to each passerby who stopped to join but had
a more pressing engagement further up the road
empty spots by the sides were a combination of
bleak and lively too common for the traveler
to want to take part of.
Winding up to a small hill the path is covered
by a whipped sugar fog welcoming an appropriate
end right up to five small headstones
each one read slowly anticipation of my own name
on the last one where I am supposed
to be buried but I am not.
Published July, 2008:
Flight Into Watery Space
New shoes with heels in the clouds
747 forty fighter jets
circling in harmonious speed
straight down the runway
feet racing
trajectory parallel
sight speeding through a tunnel
ninety miles per hour
headfirst the temperature of the water
changing from warm to cold to warm
to boiling slowly emerging
cleansed whole
scent of marigolds and lilacs
sprinkled forth from a void
collecting into a pool at
the bottom of my feet.
Published July, 2008:
Two Cicadas
Two cicadas hovered
above the lilac leaves
past their season
one hopped onto
page 112 of a psychology book
while the other
gazed at a painting
by Rousseau, "The Waterfall",
thinking that
one of the grass huts
was the honeymoon home
just for them.
All poems Copyright 2007-2009 Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without consent from the author.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Some fantasy poems and more.
Here are a few more you might enjoy if you are into fantasy poetry:
The Snowy Top of Kilimanjaro
Walking Down the Longest Street of My Life
Evaporating Sounds
Green Desert Garden
Inside the Lair of the Dragon
Shadows Creeping Into the Ceiling
Twilight Sprites
Having It All
The Castle On the Island
The Small Room In the Chapel
The Snowy Top of Kilimanjaro
Walking Down the Longest Street of My Life
Evaporating Sounds
Green Desert Garden
Inside the Lair of the Dragon
Shadows Creeping Into the Ceiling
Twilight Sprites
Having It All
The Castle On the Island
The Small Room In the Chapel
Art and Poetry
I figure I would add some links to what I think is some really fabulous poetry composed for some famous works of art. Enjoy!
To H'suan Tsung's "Kittens"
To Henri Rousseau's "The Waterfall"
To Hieronymus Bosch's "Death and the Miser"
To Marc Chagall's "The Juggler"
To Saint Longinus
To Jean Chardin's "House of Cards"
To H'suan Tsung's "Kittens"
To Henri Rousseau's "The Waterfall"
To Hieronymus Bosch's "Death and the Miser"
To Marc Chagall's "The Juggler"
To Saint Longinus
To Jean Chardin's "House of Cards"
Hey Hello Hi
"Hey Hello Hi" was published in The Flask Review in March 2007:
Copyright 2007 by Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without consent from the writer.
Hey Hello Hi
No one is making eye contact
crowded together
on the sidewalk
catching the hawkers
trying to pass off fake
designer handbags
for the real thing
eyes looking upwards
at the sky
for spaceships
hidden behind
a cumulus cloud
alien eyes peeping out
of windows the size of
a candy bar
looking for
the best spot to buy
an ice cream cone
to bring home
so they can re-create
the secret to human happiness.
Copyright 2007 by Julie Kovacs. Not to be reproduced without consent from the writer.
Garden Party and The Perfect Real Estate
"Garden Party" and "The Perfect Real Estate" were published in the June 2007 issue of Aquapolis:
Garden Party
Turning off
silent
surrounded by
unpleasant sounds
free to get up and move
walk
but walk away
never towards
into that
noose left for me
wisely avoided
flying away into
the sky free
freer
upon entering
the square hole
left open for me
by Eric
who gave me
the most important song
I will ever hear
sparkling blue eyes
smiled
when I said “Thank you”
to him
never waving goodbye
always saying hello.
The Perfect Real Estate
Heat coming out of the ground
wayward feet searching for the
right planet to land on
hopscotch from star to star
which family is the right one to join
not the one where your life
is behind your back
not the one where you
are significantly different
not the one where
they walk on their hands
all day long.
One coming
three going
how many bedrooms
were locked and boarded up
continuous hallways
leading to doorways
of other dimensions
inviting a new resident.
Floating above the
emerald hills down the streets
past open air markets
natural coves where
a private tea party
can be given and
joyous laughter exchanged.
A new school on opening day
completely modernized
with up to date technology
and bright white walls
impressionist art scattered
around here and there
curriculum material inclusive
thought provoking
exploring uncharted regions
of the human mind where
the most welcoming home
has vacancy for
the lost and forlorn
peace and security
watery orbs relegated
far below into the ground
where they belong with death.
Preservation
"Preservation" was published in the June 2007 issue of Good Intentions:
Preservation
Peace inside
an earthquake cannot disrupt
warm comfort
a Hawaiian island breeze
the salt from the ocean
cleanses the body
the soul cleansed by the
coconut juice
dribbling from the waterfall
into the sky.
After the Night
"After the Night" was published in the July 1, 2007 issue of The Persistent Mirage:
After the Night
Laying there looking around
not seeing anything
not seeing the television
not seeing the window
not seeing what is on the other side of the window
not seeing a world past the window
not seeing anything but blood
streaming out of the mouth like a waterfall
creating a black puddle on the floor
black nothing but black
creating a flood indoors
and outdoors
drowning the roses
drowning the pansies
drowning the lilies and irises
drowning my whole life out
the blood dries
and empties through the pit
where love, trust and hope lay at the bottom
beneath the layers of humanity
lost and remain uncovered
until the cold marble of my skin
is warmed by your gentle touch
holding onto me
even though I am falling
I never fall too far
into the vat of blood
from your heart
that comforts protects
and provides the best security
that can only come with
the silence of your skin
blanketing my soul.
Arm's Length
"Arm's Length" was published in the September 2007 issue of The Barfing Frog:
Arm’s Length
Holding at arm’s length
a glass of water
a book I love to read
a candy bar
a donut
a hamburger
ice cream
and French fries.
Snickering over things not healthy
or good for me
denouncing enemies
wanting to cause me hurt
and stomach pains
not bothering to wonder why
there is so much snarling and growling
inside of me
I figured that bears and lions have taken up residence
in my intestines.
Pot of Gold and Trading Favors
"Pot of Gold" and "Trading Favors" appeared in the November 2007 issue of Elegant Thorn Review:
Pot of Gold
Two heads facing downward
through the clouds contemplated
making a new world no concrete
skyscrapers or highways
exist supplanted by
fields of grass rock gardens
waterfalls splashing water
into ponds with small groups
of rocks each time
water covered a rock
the rock wailed
unheard by surrounding
waters moving backward
while the rock moved forward
unobserved by anyone
except the two radiant faces
leaving a rainbow surrounding
the rock in a bow
and a gold coin on the top
unremovable by anyone except the rock.
Trading Favors
Escaping from highway gridlock on route 10 south
I hopscotch across the mountain tops
off into forests of job offers
shirts and skirts with my label on them
smiles that say comfort and ease
a coat of warmth that says thank you
for not using my coat from a four-legged
friend who used to be fed a bottle of formula
as an infant and played catch with a toy rubber ball
that belonged to my old ferret named Mandy.
Only twice now I didn’t notice when someone
wore a black cocktail dress of mine
but that was because I was too busy enjoying
chocolate truffles and herbal tea
made by the two gracious ladies.
Fake Mission from Cherry Bleeds
"Fake Mission" was published in the November 2007 issue from Cherry Bleeds:
Fake Mission
Calendar falling off the refrigerator
half a pie uncovered tiny bite marks left in the crust
Pooki watched her favorite riveting television show
the shepard returned before dusk
no new wood for the evening cut
and laid on top of the DVD player
amid the stale popcorn and nacho chips
four masked ballet dancers
stood at the front door
Bibles in hand.
My website
My website, The Biographical Poet, has a new address. It can be viewed at:
http://www.biographicalpoet.comxa.com/intro.htm
http://www.biographicalpoet.comxa.com/intro.htm
Poems to be published here
Since a number of my previously published poems have been with sites that are now defunct, I have decided to reprint my work here. This blog will also be used for any other notifications of my work that do not appear on my website, The Biographical Poet. Enjoy!
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