Sunday Morning – A Poem

Sunday Morning BY WALLACE STEVENS      I Complacencies of the peignoir, and lateCoffee and oranges in a sunny chair,And the green freedom of a cockatooUpon a rug mingle to dissipateThe holy hush of ancient sacrifice.She dreams a little, and she feels the darkEncroachment of that old catastrophe,As a calm darkens among water-lights.The pungent oranges andContinue reading “Sunday Morning – A Poem”

Bathing With Amy Lowell (1874-1925): A Poem to Feed Your Week

Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling

To the One Who Never Will

Our story is never-ending.

That to say, I will always love you. 

Aware of this dream state which is my tendency to romanticize the past.

“The Dying of Baal,” A Poem by Helen Wing

“The Dying of Baal,” A Poem by Helen Wing
“…Oh Syria! With the god of Storm
and Dew now thunder-mute
in Homs, Aleppo, Damascus and Palmyra… “

Flash Poem to Self: “Be confident, not sad sap, sipping quietly in corner bar:” On Writing, the Bohemian Lifestyle, and Balancing Art/Mind.

I will be confident — not sad sap, sipping quietly in corner bar.

I will be, act, speak with intention.

I will be finished, will shop my novel. 

How Not To Write in Cafes: Confessions of an Antisocial.

Confessions of an Antisocial Writer. Cafes? Don’t do it. For he love of all things Didion! I mean, I get it, there is this undeniable sex appeal. This intrique: scattering your notes across that old bistro set, the heady demitasse begging for your lips: what’s the WiFi code? Nah, I write longhand.