| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
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![]() BACK | HOME SUBSCRIBE | --- copyright B.R. STRAHANB.R. STRAHAN Rainy Day with Coffee (Charles St., Beacon Hill) Crepuscular light invades cafes where coffee-air breathes hushed voices. Mist clings like wet ghosts to red brick and purpled windows. Moist eyes of tired old men stare at slender legs, dancing umbrellas. Amidst dry memories Boston soaks quietly in spring's laughter. For 12 yrs. B.R. STRAHAN taught poetry at Georgetown Univ.. His poetry appears in Onthebus, The Cresset, and Gargoyle, and elsewhere. JH What I find attractive in the poem is that the emotion rides on sentences. Though the texts are stationary, these are moments of movement using sentence form to delay thought - each stanza a sentence. each sentence a simple series of declaratives leading the reader into the ever-surprizing beginning of Spring. REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. Oxford English Dictionary Baylor University PS : Sponsor Poetry visit Poetry Sponsors
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| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
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| ROSE DESROCHERS --- copyright ROSE DESROCHERS Rose DesRochers, Canada admin@todays-woman.net http://www.todays-woman.net is a published author and web columnist. She is also the founder of Today's Woman a supportive online community for men and women over 18. Their goal is to help writers succeed in the writing industry by offering a useful selection of services including author interviews, regular columns, interactive forums, and a place to share your writing for critique by your peers. poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry. |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
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| BACK | HOME SUBSCRIBE | --- copyright DUANE LOCKE. "The Skull" was previously published onpoetryrepairs 01.02:019DUANE LOCKE The Skull The skull Whose eyes Are now pearl-colored worms Can now see The exciting curves And splendid bare backs of twisting roots. When the skull Had human eyes, It only saw only his peer's words, Not realities. 'all the fine arts are species of poetry'
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