Poetry

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Jason Alan Wilkinson - The Poetry Locksmith - EYE ON LIFE MAGAZINE Jason Alan Wilkinson is a writer living in New York whose work has appeared through a gallimaufry of literary vehicles. His most recent collection, “When Our Lights Flutter Off You Can Play Among The Shadows”, is currently available for purchase at Amazon.com. He is one of the few poets I’ve read that force me to the dictionary more than once per poem. As a lover of words I enjoy this very much. Jason Alan Wilkinson - The Poetry Locksmith - EYE ON LIFE MAGAZINE
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Josepf @ Books Of Wonder
We are blessed | #Blankverse #Poetry on #Passionating
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#Passionating #Passionating if if only we opened heart met not passed if only we didn’t screw it up hearts blocked words unsaid if only we took the Indian path to the West where my heart lies always other paths other loves other lives if but you know the secret only you with a pain so deep that we leave it unsaid
Josepf Poet Twitter | Josepf Poet Trending
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Shashi Sharma
Josepf Poet Twitter tweets related to: Twylah, Kelly, Haiku, Poem, Poetry and more
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MomsofAmerica
Red leaves | #prose #poem on #Passionating #pfma
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Juan Carlos Hernandez english interview in english for "Jazz Stew" Juan Carlos Hernandez english interview in english for "Jazz Stew" Hi, I'm pleased to share with you today an interview I gave in May to Annie Taylor of "Jazz Stew", an excellent and classy US radio show about my book Estelas de Jazz. Enjoy my strong french accent ;-)
Louderyour silence roarsupon her shorescrashing your waves of madnessyour screaming staresthose undressed glaresmoanon a loan,around some plastic smilesyet blueyes, this you gotta dobut how would you? roaming around your demonsthey laugh at your pretended resistancereciting your vowsher wind blowsin your chaotic voidstill thereshe is..still therea weakened beattaking the back seatof your empty stage theaterclapping to your silent performanceblinking exotic gripsof that late night dreamor was it real? Loud Silence... Loud Silence...
I hear her first a sound that stirs me calls me to her and then I see her across the room. Riveted in place I stare frozen as she feels my eyes turning with a smile. We cut through the crowd to get closer intrigued, attracted, aroused we talk, lean in to whisper small lingering touches we want more so much more. » Measurements and Metrics make for Masterful Marketing, SEO, CMO, SEOCMO » Measurements and Metrics make for Masterful Marketing, SEO, CMO, SEOCMO
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When did you first know you wanted to write a book? When I read great ones in high school. I was probably first impressed by The Once and Future King and Lord of the Flies, around the fifth grade. By the eighth or ninth grade, I knew for sure I wanted to write a book. When I started reading Fitzgerald and Salinger around tenth or eleventh grade, I started wondering whether I would ever really be able to write a good one..and there I still stand. =) Interview with Matthew Temple, Author of mURdEr cLuB cANDy « Interview with Matthew Temple, Author of mURdEr cLuB cANDy «
"The Love Song of J. Alfred True Klout" by #UsGuys Caveman | the GOD BOLT "The Love Song of J. Alfred True Klout" by #UsGuys Caveman | the GOD BOLT Here we are then, #UsGals and #UsGuys, When our network's reach grasps even the sky Like Prometheus Unbound in some old fable; Here we are, in certain well-formatted tweets, Quick-edited retweets, Of restless nights in hot-hash tag hotels and #coffee tweet-ups that #RingtheTribalBell, Tweets that follow like an #UsBlogs assignment Of Round-up intent, To lead #UsFolk to an overwhelming question Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let Us go and make Our visit. In the room #UsFolk come and go Talking (lately only) of MichelKloutago A vile fog now rubs its back upon the HootSuite-panes, A vile smoke now rubs its muzzle across the TweetDeck-panes Worked itself into the corners of Our evenings, Festered like pools of street water in drains, Fell in some magnificent fashion as soot falls from chimneys, Slipped onto #IfThen Island, trading nothing cheap, And seeing it was a soft eternal night, Took over the house and refused to sleep.
Photograph by Iquanyin Moon iquanyin moon’s flickr photostream ·ς←Ç→ς·. i am walking through time.·ς·.travelling alone ~i’m naked to the world{ if anyone could see me }creating my own field of gravityfootprints rising from ~not sinking into~ the sand.·ς·.i’m moving as fast as light through normal spacebarely there long enough to take a few stepsthen disappearing into the cold dark voidin the time it would take for one breath{ if only there was air to breathe }. ·ς←Ç→ς· walking through time {One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry} | haiku love songs ·ς←Ç→ς· walking through time {One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry} | haiku love songs
Moments that we see through the lens, moments that give us a gesture; a gesture that descends into the abyss of visual rhythm and harmonies through a kind of intuition. It is an expression that we experience in that very moment; put a frame around and call it a “photograph”, but the story goes far beyond the frame. It is a journey around the world seen through the lenses of amazing photographers, in an “Enigma of Capturing Light,” and gorgeous composition which is “Driven by Passion.” Setting foot in an exotic, water-filled atmosphere, surrounded by lights and neon, pulsating with movement and futuristic thinking, we entered the world of “The Tokyo Bay and the Traditional House Boats”, with photographer Michiko Matsumoto. Tales Beyond the Frames Tales Beyond the Frames
Guyku by Bob Raczka & Peter H. Reynolds But Keep in Mind. . . So keep a pencil and paper handy at all times—and share your future poetic and artistic creations with others. Show them to your friends and family, gather them to create a special portfolio you can share with people, or ask your teacher to let you hang them up in the classroom or hallway at school. There’s a good chance you’ll inspire others and end up with a whole Guyku Gallery. Guyku by Bob Raczka & Peter H. Reynolds
Vampira’s Ball « Marousia Twilight is falling, Vampira stirs in her carmine silk coffin, nostrils flare scenting of attar of roses, she stretches luxuriously stepping gracefully into the room. She floats to the French windows throwing them open, she bows very deeply to salute the rising moon. Outside snowflakes dance in the crisp cold night air. In the garden, the cawing of night jars rends the air while the lawns glimmer from snow like shot silk and filigree hazelnut hedges are kissed by the moon. Her chivalrous paramour was returning tonight, she waited joyously, her heart and the windows were open, tonight there would be a masquerade ball in that very room. Kasimir, singing the nightingale’s song swept into the room, held Vampira tight in his arms, sucked in her scent on the air arousing tender flames of desire, his heart was wide open.
Ric Dragon v2 » Blog Archive » Hippies We saw the hippies on Sunset Boulevard. My sister pointed to and was touched by a hippy on Sunset Boulevard. If we had remained, my brother
Grief Virus « Jessica Kristie I pause in silence. Honoring the fallen that still forge this ground with mystery and memory. Your vacancy leaves stains permanent and pressing. Questioning – even the questions to ask.
A photography, a poem by Diana Matisz and a Chris Isaak song ~ Juan-Carlos Hernandez - Life Photographer
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