Ode. Arthur O'Shaughnessy. <3.Day. « This is your reason to stay. They’re having coffee at Starbucks for a date on Valentine’s Day because they’re fourteen and that’s what you do at fourteen. she wears a long-sleeved tee shirt and too much eyeliner she’s mildly not-skinny he wears a short sleeved striped polo and he is awkwardly tall for his muscle mass she is giggling and telling him how that bitch at school just doesn’t know what she’s talking about, because what she doesn’t know is that… he is thinking about how maybe if they go to Starbucks enough.
Perspective by vijayendra mohanty. A Myth of Devotion. When Hades decided he loved this girl he built for her a duplicate of earth, everything the same, down to the meadow, but with a bed added.
Everything the same, including sunlight, because it would be hard on a young girl to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night, first as the shadows of fluttering leaves. Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars. Let Persephone get used to it slowly. A replica of earth except there was love here. He waited many years, building a world, watching Persephone in the meadow. Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night the beloved body, compass, polestar, to hear the quiet breathing that says I am alive, that means also you are alive, because you hear me, you are here with me. That's what he felt, the lord of darkness, looking at the world he had constructed for Persephone.
Guilt? Poetry Translation Centre. Welcome Welcome to The Poetry Translation Centre’s website.
We’re a small organisation dedicated to translating contemporary poetry from Africa, Asia and Latin America. To date, we've translated 399 poems written in 27 different languages by 86 poets from 39 countries. On our website you'll find all these poems both in translation and in their original language, plus photos and videos of our events and information about what we do and how we translate. What's going on Workshop on Poetry from Mauritania by Mbarka Mint al Barra' Wednesday 2nd April 2014 For our final workshop before Easter we'll be joined by Joel Mitchell to translate more poetry by the fascinating Mauritanian poet, Mbarka Mint al-Barra', a legend in her own country,'the land of a million poets'.
“Death and Tacos” by Nathaniel Whittemore. Nathaniel Whittemore Waiting in line at a taco stand for my number to be called I started talking to a six-year-old kid kicking his little foot against A curb and waiting for his dad to come out of the bathroom.
And he said, “Why do you cough so much?” Godzilla Haiku. Poetry of Nazim Hikmet Ran. I Will Wade Out by E. E. Cummings. You Are Tired (I Think) by e.e. cummings. You Are Tired (I Think) by e.e. cummings You are tired,(I think)Of the always puzzle of living and doing;And so am I.
Come with me, then,And we’ll leave it far and far away—(Only you and I, understand!) A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London - by Dylan Thomas. Poet: Dylan ThomasPoem: A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London Comment 196 of 196, added on April 1st, 2014 at 9:03 AM. wsRMfLbNJuTDaMdWP vkGfrF Thanks for sharing, this is a fantastic article.Really thank you!
Will read on... nice seo guys from Samoa. Autobiography In Five Chapters. 1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost... Carabosse by Delia Sherman. There were twelve fairies at the feast.
Never Thirteen. The day the queen gave birth, the king Sent out twelve messengers on horses, One to each of us, begging us To bless her, name her, crown her with our favor. So we came. There was a banquet — well, there'd have to be, With jewelled plates and cups, the usual fee For fairy-godmothering. The usual gifts: Beauty. Goodness (of course). Wincing at the jewelled cups, the queen's gown). I Loved You, by Alexander Pushkin. Rain by Shel Silverstein. Pantomime by Marcus Lane. Magic. Imagine for a second that the world you live in is magic.
Not your hocus-pocus, wave-your-wand-magic, but magic like the coffee tables you sit at beat with the hearts of the trees they were made from. That the coffee and beer in your mouths is feeding you life straight off the tongues of the plants they were made from. That every heart beating in this room is beating in time to every heart in this room and this poem. Some of you will go home with some of you tonight and some of you will go home to empty rooms that some of you will wish you had gone home to: go home to them. Your empty rooms and the rooms you fill always have at least one poem in them.