Note by the author: I am not sure what got into me about wanting to write a cat poem (as you can see I selected a great name for the poem); I just did it, out of the blue. I must have been triggered somehow because I do not care for cats. To b...
The loveliness that crowned her youth,
Swept the grounds with all its roots;
With gentle years and womanhood
With lazy-days and laughs of grace;
Now passes by her majesty.
A CUP OF HOT TEA
I PLACED BEFORE HIM
ALONG WITH HOMEMADE SCRONES.
BUT HE SAID THIS TEA IS TOO HOT FOR ME
I SAID I GET ANOTHER RIGHT AWAY
HE WAS NOT BEING MEAN TO ME
HE JUST ...
The winter wind whistles, harmoniously
with happy snowdrifts, miles long—
and my shoes, like car tires
grip the ground—, they chop through
away the whiteness.
Performance artists of all types enjoy the awe and the kudos coming their way from the general public. In return, any concert or performance turns livelier with audience participation. During the recent decades, more and more musicians--even those...
There is no dearth of love poems in Sanskrit Language. In fact, thousands of verses
can be cited for each and every mood of the lover.
From the hundreds of poems I have collected, given below are three poems that are beautiful and moving. The poe...
Said the Grim Ghoul to the Twilight-tree, "Life,
life moves, time sands still, I have learned,
leaned this as a ghoul—for I fly from twilight,
thru twilight—never seeing a full-dawn, or full-dusk,
nor a full-horizon, or that of a ...
I know I keep saying I don't like to do articles on poetry, but I do, maybe because of all the writing in the world out there, I respect poetry above all the rest.
My wife was looking over a poem of mine today, translating it actually into S...
'Tis written, "He that seeketh, he shall find,"
Hidden, I have found thy next, in all they spheres,
By my city's river, a voice no man hears<...>Poems of our Time (19 Jan 2006)
[Commentary] —I'm not so young anymore, I seem to think I've recognized something that has escaped most of the modern age that perhaps most of us are people lost inside our own heads.
Here are a few more of Dennis' poems, evidently he wrote them yesterday, and finished late early Wednesday evening, when I was alseep. He loves his Minnesota, and, now his Peru.