How that florid scent
Wafts through your two vents
Making all your senses yield
To wilderness in a field.
How the petals soft
Carry you aloft
To the clouds above us all,
Lightly float and never fall.
How the colors beam
In a matching scheme,
Fine art in a museum
Painting over tedium.
Yet how flowers fail!
Before you they’re pale,
My Lady across the earth,
Rarest blossom the world hath.
-Evan Mantyk
. The terms eenee, meenee, mainee, and mo can be found in Rudyard Kipling’s “A Counting-Out Song“ from Land and...
Marseille, France In the year 1720, the last great occurrence of bubonic plague struck the port city of Marseille, France,...
"The Entomology of Desire" Dr Bhairab Barman At vesper, she unpinned her golden hair, While susurrus of silk disturbed the…
My grandfather had several apple groves on his fruit farm on upstate NY. I loved going there. I wrote a…
Stephen, this association is mentioned importantly in the Robert Harris book, "Second Sleep," a really good read, but not one…
No, that totally escaped my notice. I just assumed that the first part dealt with the existence of divinities, while…
Thanks for reading and commenting, Gerard. These creatures in the deep ocean trenches are indeed denizens of the planet out…
PEONIES, SHELL, AND COILED CANDLE: AFTER STONE ROBERTS
Upon the pale and shiny stonework ledge
sits shell, white vase, and beeswax candle coil.
Here is a neoclassical-clear edge,
a spare, fine atmosphere betrayed in oil.
Peony petals drooping, perky too,
in yellow, white, red violet, and pink,
against the wall, a dark gray, background hue;
one wonders how they smell, sweet, light, or stink.
The smoothness is disturbed by sharp-shaped conch,
the long-line grooves and patterns of the vase,
the copper-finished plate and clip ensconced
about the sixty-hour candle’s base.
A New Dutch Realist has been let loose
where once New Amsterdam was in the News.