My 1st Catena rondo Child claps hands at age-old fable Pulsing auroras glimmer bright Silent abyss-eyes consume light Child claps hands at age-old fable Pulsing auroras glimmer bright Faint swish with it brings eerie chill Sentinels sleep against their will Pulsing auroras glimmer bright Faint swish with it brings eerie chill Faithfully, distant church bells… Continue reading Pulsing auroras, or: Child claps
A Descort Poem The wind rattles hilly Jerusalem. Though Papa loved its hills, he is not in the rattling wind. Pedestrians walk; bikers ride; and drivers drive up and down Jerusalem's renowned hills entirely unaware that he once lived... here. I do not believe he is floating around windy Jerusalem. Or anywhere. Eschewing unreason, my… Continue reading Jerusalem, or: Anywhere
Poetry Partners #81 'Letter to a friend', a poem by Filipa Moreira da Cruz of 'De Malinha Pronta' Dear friend, I’m counting the days for Spring to come You know I dislike Winter time If you were here, we could stroll on the beach Feeling free and released Have I told you that I have… Continue reading Abandoned, or: Never finished
Ever so tenderly and with devoted reverence, Neeraj approached his beloved Aarav and pet his friend's face, as the light slowly faded from the ancient, gentle elephant's luminous golden eyes. This piece of flash fiction was written in response to: The Sunday Muse #208;Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #257
It is my Papa's watch Now it is not his watch I did not use to wear a watch And now again I wear no watch But I did Chronos notches Aion's Endless hours and minutes Did his scythe cut Kairos down? Blind hands feel for Fate's flinty face To finitude they're now attuned Though… Continue reading Watch, or: Don’t
A shadorma Papa died unexpectedly several hours after reaching the emergency room on a Saturday Crushing waves; turbulent mood swings; treacherous reflections still pound my soul // spill over into word-torrents Shadorma? a six-line stanza (or sestet);each stanza has a syllable count of three in the 1st line, five in the 2nd, three in the… Continue reading On a Saturday, or: Word-torrents
d’Verse prosery During these darkest days, child, you must allow yourself to talk what you please of future spring; and sun-warm’d sweet tomorrow will, in this very way, become reality. Yes, the Russians invaded your home and murdered your family; they've raped and tortured your neighbors; they've decimated your city. Yes, much of your country… Continue reading With and for the hope of your nation
Poetry Partners #72 'Will They Continue?', a poem by douryeh of 'Daily Observation' Will there be war, soon Or will they renounce the folly Our world will be lit by Sun & Moon But, again, blood will flow abundantly douryeh: https://hajarstexts.com/ An alouette by ben Alexander of 'The Skeptic's Kaddish' The battlefield's strewn with innocents… Continue reading Uncounted war crimes, or: Murderer(s)
The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱 
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