The Writer by Robert Lima Backed by nebulous nature, under forged matrix spirals from which a path is said to spring, his silhouetted image sits mid-air with plumed pen pending in his hand, looming over the Victorian desk, whose bowed legs are in symbiosis with the arching of his back. It could be Stevenson orContinue reading “The Writer by Robert Lima”
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The Canticle of Jack Kerouac by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The Canticle of Jack Kerouac (Part 2)by Lawrence Ferlinghetti There is a garden in the memory of AmericaThere is a nightbird in its memoryThere is an andante cantabilein a garden in the memoryof AmericaIn a secret gardenin a private placea song a melodya nightsong echoingin the memory of AmericaIn the sound of a nightbirdoutside a LowellContinue reading “The Canticle of Jack Kerouac by Lawrence Ferlinghetti”
December 1991 by David Hare
December 1991 by David Hare She drove me to Trouville in her black Volkswagen droptop Leaving Paris early by the Peripherique and getting there by noon There was frost even on the inside of the slanted back window And the laughable so-called heater pretty soon Gave out. The tyres rocked on the brittle brown concrete.Continue reading “December 1991 by David Hare”
Some kind of nut by Charles Bukowski
Some kind of nut by Charles Bukowski the best Christmas I can remember I was in a tiny room in Philadelphia and I pulled down all the shades and went to bed and pulled up the covers. there was no telephone. there were no Christmas cards. there was no family. there were no gifts andContinue reading “Some kind of nut by Charles Bukowski”
Welsh Tea with Dylan Thomas by Margaret Duda
Welsh Tea with Dylan Thomasby Margaret Duda We hiked Cliff Road from Laugharne,noticed a peregrine perched on a grassy cliffscanning the small waders in the tidal marsh,stalking his prey in the estuary of the Taf. Approaching the writing shed, robin’s egg blue,we peered through a small window to see wherethe high school dropout composed lyricalContinue reading “Welsh Tea with Dylan Thomas by Margaret Duda”
Young in New Orleans by Charles Bukowski
Young in New Orleansby Charles Bukowski starving there, sitting around the bars,and at night walking the streets for hours,the moonlight always seemed faketo me, maybe it was,and in the French Quarter I watchedthe horses and buggies going by,everybody sitting high in the opencarriages, the black driver, and inback the man and the woman,usually young andContinue reading “Young in New Orleans by Charles Bukowski”
POETRY and PLACES 