POEMS, POETS, RHYMES AND POETRY

Meet me in the courtyard under the shade of the lovers tree, We’ll picnic on salmon and fine wine, just the birds just you and me, As we lay there I’ll whisper sweet poetry in to your dainty ear, On second thoughts lets forget this, I’m off to the pub for a beer. “Well are you coming? just look at you sprawled over that rug, have some decency woman and who said you cold wear my Bugs Bunny underwear! If you are lucky I will buy you some pickled onions and some of that crispy pig skin you like”

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

10 July – 2 August 2008 Chalk Horse Gallery in Surry Hills New works by Ruark Lewis and Stuart Fleming. Exhibition opening from 6 to 8pm next Thursday the 10th. Ruark Lewis (Front Gallery and Project Space) AN INDEX OF KINDNESS “An exhibition is formed by things in space and time. An Index of Kindness is more like a chamber work. It is allegorical, baroque and it relies of references crossing. By collaging a series of moving images of a violinist who follows the illogical traces of horses

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

I’ve always been a huge fan of the work of Paul Henning, but I wasn’t expecting to find this gem featuring Dennis Hopper. It gives me an excuse to work on the problems of hosting/embeding flash video. I can generate .flv files with no problems, but the player part of the equation had me stumped until I happened on an easy solution. Now full screen video is within reach!

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She Walks On Water It is dusk. The air is heavy with salt spray and kelp. The seagull’s tongue is dumb. Dark wings hide the face of the madonna on the beach. Twin silver starfish lift a long skirt, reveal pale knees, a cerulean scarf flutters in the breeze. Unseen mercury eels seeth in her currents. The moon is a gaping mouth. She turns away from the promenade’s ice-cream smiles and waving

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“For the poet, each word represents sound and meaning; the music of meaning is shaped by words that fall left or right of a single word. Each word is an increment of the whole. Perhaps we are drawn to poetry because language vibrates (is an action), and we seem to search still for a language that will keep us whole.” — Yusef Komunyakaa —From “Kit & Caboodle,” an essay included in The Eye of the Poet: Six Views of the Art and Craft of Poetry, edited by David Citino (Oxford University Press,

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

Pain to See I cover my eyes with my hands, fingers tight together, peekaboo. Except I do not remove them ever. Refusing to see, eyes closed also, an extra barrier. I have learned to feel my way, picking my path, dragging my feet, following my nose, picking up my own scent trail. Hiding in plain sight from the truth. I am invisible and I am naked. I cannot hide, I cannot hide. Lick My Lips The wire is tight in my hand and I pull against forces that threaten to unwind us all, holding the world

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

When I was 7 years old, I got my very first Cookie Puss for a birthday cake. For 8 consecutive years, my birthday always consisted of a homemade card from my mom with her god awful (but sweet and sentimental) poetry and a Cookie Puss ice cream cake. In 1990, for my sixteenth birthday, I didn’t get a Cookie Puss cake. I didn’t get a Cookie Puss cake that year because my grandmother was a floor below us, dying of cancer. Her birthday is July 2nd, whereas mine is July 3rd so they basical

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

We are just home from the Best. Fireworks. Ever. I kid you not. We were out in our canoe on Ladybird Lake. I had to ride like Cleopatra in the middle of the boat due to my tweaky back. Hubby and girls paddled and we found ourselves amidst the most spectacular floatilla of canoes, kayaks, inflatable rafts and other seaworthy craft. Everyone, it seemed had a glow bracelet or two, a cooler of watermelon and a zest for all things pyrotechnic. The symphony played. The cannons blasted. The

Original post by Technorati Search for: poetry

Now pursuing truth I make new moves and am more business-like … I must learn more I’ll take to interstices I’ll live in the wall that divides I’ll watch with my bespectacled unblinking eye I’ll see all sides It’s two years since the death of Leicester Kyle, who found time to be a botanist, environmental activist, Marx scholar, air force chaplain, family man, missionary, poet and editor during his three score years and ten. I dedicated an issue of the literary journal brief to Leicester’s

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Stretching from the peak of Snowdon to Bardsey Island (or Ynys Enlli - the Island of the Tides), the Llyn Peninsula is a unique and beautiful part of North Wales, renown for its natural charm and mild climate. So spectacular is its coastline that many thousands of acres have been protected by the National Trust, and vast tracts of land have been designated Areas of Special Scientific Interest. It is a haven for wild flowers and its indigenous wildlife attracts naturalists from far and wide -

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