Overloaded these days with mirroring imagery of a potential freedom and a long yearning to fly from this cage.These shallow and rather deep oceanic atmospheric waters are wrapping around my lungs causing a deafening silence.The echoing of my howling caused a ripple like a rock thrown across a peaceful pond, suddenly my howling caused a tsunami then the perfect storm that … [Read more...] about Rock Across The Pond, By: Nova Po
Palolem, By: Lindsay Sweeney
Palolem's whispering waves, a gentle call,Golden sands where sun-kissed shadows fall.Coconut palms sway in the balmy breeze,A symphony of calm, the soul to ease.Azure waters kiss the curving shore,Boats dance on waves, with the horizon they implore.Sunsets paint the sky in hues so bold,Crimson, lavender, and fiery gold.Here, time meanders like the lazy tides,As every moment, in … [Read more...] about Palolem, By: Lindsay Sweeney
Memorials Of A Tour Of Scotland, 1803 VI. Glen-Almain, Or, The Narrow Glen. By: William Wordsworth
In this still place, remote from men,Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN;In this still place, where murmurs onBut one meek streamlet, only one:He sang of battles, and the breathOf stormy war, and violent death;And should, methinks, when all was past,Have rightfully been laid at lastWhere rocks were rudely heaped, and rentAs by a spirit turbulent;Where sights were rough, and … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour Of Scotland, 1803 VI. Glen-Almain, Or, The Narrow Glen. By: William Wordsworth
Where’s The Nearest Exit?, By: Nathan Mallon
There's a giant bubble of ironyIn this room about nowIt contains more imperfect ironyThan this room will allowIt floats like a wanderer o'er our headsA bit like Wordsworth's cloudOur cumulo-nimble-cloud-bubbleIs due to speak aloudYes, it'll definitely happen soonIts growth exponentialWhen the irony finally rains downConceptual torrentialThe thoughts currently queuedWill soon … [Read more...] about Where’s The Nearest Exit?, By: Nathan Mallon
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XV. The Blind Highland Boy – A Tale Told By The Fire-Side, After Returning To The Vale Of Grasmere, By: William Wordsworth
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,Have romped enough, my little Boy!Jane hangs her head upon my breast,And you shall bring your stool and rest;This corner is your own. There! take your seat, and let me seeThat you can listen quietly:And, as I promised, I will tellThat strange adventure which befellA poor blind Highland Boy. A 'Highland' Boy! why call him so?Because, my … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XV. The Blind Highland Boy – A Tale Told By The Fire-Side, After Returning To The Vale Of Grasmere, By: William Wordsworth