Tag Archives: Literary

Virginia Woolf

Through a glass, darkly, splitting of selves by prism– Wide berth for one’s I.

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William Faulkner

Moon turning blood-red, tides roiling, writer signs crosses to stand Time’s test, sound and fury bridled through carnal lightning and soil of pen.

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Birds

By whirling reams of papered birds, the writer’s flights, short-lived, earn the keep of dreams daringly emptied.

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Balm

To write a poem that demands nothing from anyone else, truly asks for nothing, except to become, is the purest placeholder for the Muse’s proferred balm.    

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Bard

Bardic task at hand, to bask, in solitude, bare– Light passing over.

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In Praise of Dark and Light

Everyone’s dark is coming up and it isn’t going to be pretty, as well it shouldn’t be. Beauty, as a rugged force, as thorny swaths of dream-thistles, blooms through night-fasting, and respiring enclosures of dark. Beauty marks the hidden faith … Continue reading

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Thomas Wolfe

Locomotive-brained, roar and let of angels blood– Tracks vetting heaven.

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Rilke

Consort of angels, intimacies unfettered– split man between worlds.

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In Love and War

I dumped all my G.I. Joes out of the shopping bag and onto the pavement of the driveway. I separated the good guys from the bad guys, and then arranged them in specific positions. Before initiating a battle, or an … Continue reading

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Death of a Super Hero

   I was six when I found out I’d never become a super-hero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, my father.    My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading

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