Writing should be a little bit grainy, it should be a little bit raw. It should be every single thing flowing inside of us, and most of it isn’t pretty. If there is nothing at stake in what I’m reading, if there is nothing at stake for the writer, I am just not interested. You… Continue reading Gregory Sherl
the stars above //// speaking so //////// softly until it’s time to go inside again ////////////////////////////// and dream //////// of when you swung close to the moon,your shadow bursting //////////////////// with such lovely light — Joanna Clearly, from “Blank Star Sonnet,” L’Éphémère Review (no. 13: Dulcet, Summer 2019)
Under the blistering day he walked towards the night; and under the ice of the naked stars he longed for the return of day. Happy are the lands of the North whose seasons are poets, the summer composing a legend of snow, the winter a tale of sun. Sad the tropics, where in the sweating-room… Continue reading Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Every love poem, I think, is a poem of grace. Because you can spend years in silence not knowing how to say I love you. Because you can spend years knowing what you need but not asking for it. Because you can spend years lifting, only to realize that you spent years lifting the wrong… Continue reading Devin Kelly
Trust me. This darkness is a place you can enter and be as safe in as you are everywhere; […] Memorize it. You will know it again in your own time. When the appearances of things have left you, you will still have this darkness. Something of your own you can carry with you. —… Continue reading Margaret Atwood
She was desperate and she was choosey at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn’t have quite enough going for her to become what she imagined herself to be. — Charles Bukowski, Factotumn ( Ecco, May 31, 2002) Originally t published 1975.
I leave the number and a shortmessage on every green Volvoin town Is anything wrong? I miss you. 213-799-3701 The phone rings constantly.One says, are you bald?Another, how tall are you inyour stocking feet? Most just reply, Nothing’s wrong.I miss you, too. Come quick. — Ronald Koertge, “The Ubiquity Of The Need For Love,”… Continue reading Ronald Koertge
Life is stranger than any of us expected,There is a somber, imponderable fate.Enigma rules, and the heart has no certainty. ― Richard Eberhart, from “Flux,” Selected Poems, 1930-1965 (New Directions Publishing, June 1, 1965)
Poetry is something in-between the dream and its interpretation. ― Lou Andreas-Salomé
Sixsmith. I climb the steps of the Scot monument every morning and all becomes clear. Wish I could make you see this brightness. Don’t worry, all is well. All is so perfectly, damnably well. I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may… Continue reading Ben Whishaw
The Vale of Soul-Making 