Just a nostalgia from high school years, where Pablo Neruda’s poem “Tonight I Write the Saddest Lines” was one of the reading assignments in my English class. 89 more words
1 hour, 13 minutes ago
Peter Frankis writes
Our love’s not horticultural. It’s not about
flora – roses, carnations – or geology.
There’s no mystery to our love; other than why
we persist with something as unhealthy as this. 155 more words
8 hours, 50 minutes ago
Não tem mais lar o que mora em tudo
AMOR, quantos caminhos até chegar a um beijo,
que solidão errante até a tua companhia!
Seguem os trens sozinhos rodando com a chuva.
Em Taltal não amanhece ainda a primavera. 76 more words
2 days, 16 hours ago
writing in north norfolk
In a world so conveniently organised
there is no need for charm or chat-up lines,
all the young have to do is swipe
and rate their lives on the number of likes. 226 more words
5 days, 20 hours ago
We are all poets and we know what a sonnet is. Don’t we?
Everyone knows that a sonnet rhymes, and there are rhyme schemes.
Everyone knows that a sonnet is written in meter. 344 more words
Stony Soil Vermont
My neighbor stops by while I’m weeding my kale seedlings, asking what’s this? and this? and then stands where mulched blueberry plants edge up against a wild spread of field, heading down the back hill. 57 more words
6 days ago
6 days, 8 hours ago