by J. Tarwood
Slowly sandy-eyed,
I wait out mist
rising in my head:
Time left behind
is after me still.
by J. Tarwood
Slowly sandy-eyed,
I wait out mist
rising in my head:
Time left behind
is after me still.
Filed under Poetry
by Meredith MacLeod Davidson
As a solo violist, I rued the overt.
I faked it in performance.
I told my grandmother
(a woman who paid for two
degrees in music education)
I faked it in performance.
Filed under Poetry
by John Tustin
I see the moment in my mind
As if I was not a participant but witnessed it –
Like an old black and white photograph
Of two people in a single speck of time
That has defined their entire lives to a stranger.
Filed under Poetry
by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena
As the fire spreads,
the only thing that is left on the pages
are scorched words.
Filed under Poetry