Poetry
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.
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 ;-)Louder your silence roars upon her shores crashing your waves of madness your screaming stares those undressed glares moan on a loan, around some plastic smiles yet blue yes, this you gotta do but how would you?
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.
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When did you first know you wanted to write a book?
Interview with Matthew Temple, Author of mURdEr cLuB cANDy «
"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?"Photograph by Iquanyin Moon iquanyin moon’s flickr photostream
·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.
Tales Beyond the Frames
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.