The Emily Dickinson Museum will be sponsoring a poetry reading on Thursday, May 7 at 6:30 pm Eastern Standard Time. Here’s a link to the Television Station:
Below are links to this book:
I grew up on a bay with salt.
I always had a salty taste on my lips
and as soon as I approached home,
I smelled it in the air.
The salt dried out the skin and
you needed extra moisturizer after swimming.
We didn’t have salt in the sugar bowl
but we had rice in the salt shaker
to keep the salt flowing in the humidity.
Anyone else grow up on a bay?
i posted this Seguidilla, a Spanish seven line syllabic poem with the syllable counts. Someone suggested I post it without the syllable counts, so here it is:
Two oak trees bare their branches
Fractured by moon bright
ice on a lakefront ripples
Clouds capture the light
With glittering gem
Leafless solitary stems
I wander alone
Has anyone else tried this form?
“We’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”
Is anyone feeling isolated in this Corona Virus precautions environment?
Now is come the month of roses!
To the woods my verse has flown
Gathering fragrance and honey
From the blossoms newly blown.
I am grateful for the opportunity and hope to write some good poetry here. What do you do for inspiration?
Anunque el cuerpo se marchite
Hay un misterio que sobrepasa mi llanto y mi sobriedad.
¿Qué esconden las tinieblas? ¿Qué disrazan las sombras?
Cuando era niño lloraba
No entendia la noche
Que tiene un dulce aroma de tierra pisada por las pajaros,
Y ahora no entiendo la muerte,
Aunque sepa que es cuando la luz se abre en el infinito
Y los ojos dejan de llorar.
Although the body may fade
There is a mystery greater than my weeping and my sorrow.
What does darkness hide, what do shadows disguise?
When I was a boy I used to cry.
I did not understand night
With its sweet aroma of earth softly trodden by birds,
and now I do not understand death,
although I am aware that it is when light opens to infinity
and eyes cease weeping.