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Maturity is under siege as if a fable-come-alive has cast an evil spell over the behavior of ostensible grownups. (Image by Pinit) Where one grows up often trumps where one was born and raised. (Image by Tavaglia) Roses will not do this time
Far too late for “I’m sorry”......
There are times when snapshots of one’s past rear up, having not been thought of in years, and suddenly there’s milestones of understanding. Such was ... After watching the Kabul airport events today and the loss of life in such a barbaric way, I was left thinking: How many of us know of real survival? With the noise factor of global unrest unabated, it’s easy to forget the therapy still out there...and accessible. (Image by Kaveh Hoseini) As science has taught us, there is no ceasing of existence, only the form it will take next. How many of us seek to know the complexities of cosmic e... At a certain level of consciousness, the inevitable question is asked as before, but sometimes… (Image by GaryCummins) With the noise factor of global unrest unabated, it’s easy to forget the therapy still out there...and accessible. (Image by esty) It is said that visualization aids in healing. Perhaps it is also a great means of preparation. (Image by Donald Smith) Experience is full of surreal meanings and often in its existential wanderings, reveals Time’s ever evolving circle. (Image by pinterest)
This poem plus audio is from my sequence ''Coral Reveries'' and joins 6 other pieces from the sequence published at Poetry Life and Times and Artvilla... Why does it seem conscience and aspirant truth is endangered? Perhaps it’s like junk food… hooked on habit and comfort, until we finally accept reali... Lest we forget, even a fire that seems exhausted can re-erupt. For the hot coals still at the ready, take note. From the novel Forced Blood The Norseman
by Linda Newton-Perry and Christopher Perry The song I wrote for my parents passing in 2005 that may be included on my upcoming CD: In Memory Only This is the last poem in the series of "Poetray Rants". Some of the messages of these poems are ironically being played out in the news right now as y... Some of us have but words as our legacy to leave behind. How fortunate. With so many options to exercise the gift of imagination, why is it so few dare flex the creative muscles of their own innate ability? (Image by Troi... As writers, cultivating friendship and camaraderie suffers with little time outside the enigmatic world of our language realm and personal creations. ... A dedication to the modern element charting our existence we sometimes take for granted seemed appropriate this morning as I read through some works o... A dedication to the modern element charting our existence we sometimes take for granted. It seemed appropriate this morning as I read through some wor...
We often hear of a Poet’s muse, but what if the poet’s primary tool, ink, were personified and is treated as the muse of imagination? Might not Ima... From my novel in-progress, “Occam’s Legacy,” the following is an attempt to create some free verse gist of a conversation between Jared (an adult beco... The poet-in-progress (that often denied quality in all of us) is never without the mysterious challenge of discovery—often in our sleep—trying to find... When you walk in the rush hour streets like another drop of water carried by a turbulent river, you will see many faces going by, flashes of neutral f... Reflecting on the back-story for one of the characters in my novel “Echosis” takes me back to living in Manhattan’s ‘60’s, remembering the Slam of my ... When we are ill or having to cope with excessive pressure, we must harness resources from within.This poem is about such a time. To many, home might be a transient cave, shack, or mansion, et al. But what is the permanent home to discover? (Image by C Phillips) In a period of time where to smile is difficult, the simple acceptance of choice as a deliverance, can turn frowns of daily routine into smiles as lon... Kind of a pendulum poem, tick tock ping back and forth ~ vacillations.
Unlike Republicans and Democrats, who want you to follow them. I want you to ... The doors to who we really remain unopened without creative daring risks. The risk is succumbing to reality’s plague: a desolation of inner wealth on... Browsing through the back-story for one of the characters in Echosis ushered me back to living in Manhattan’s ‘60’s, taking in my own “Rear Window” ob... Not much has changed fundamentally in the big city since the 60’s. Certain experiences only change costumes. (Painting by Rod Whyte) Browsing through the back-story for one of the characters in Echosis, I was ushered into some nostalgic living in Manhattan’s 50s 60s,70s taking in my... A prosetry exploration on being alone in a big city where creating unique company, especially late night, early morning, is often the only means for m... With so many around us giving up, one wonders what’s missing…really? Every once in a while we should gather up the vestiges of years past and peer in. We’re likely to find a different perspective on the proverbial glas...
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Some of my readers may have noticed that certain poems posted in the last few weeks have focused on a single word that is repeated throughout ... Coming up on New Year’s resolutions (you know, that cliché of ‘I’m going to change some things in my life’, but the bottom line, little changes from y... As communicators, we sometimes fear rocking the boat of language. But retained innocence never fears such waters. Nature never promised us a rose garden. We invented that. And what have we given in exchange? Where to start? Funny how a smell...a sound can take you back to innocence |
