Pink elephants bushwhackthrough the thicket of illusions.Such is the thump of this tipsiness.Your Duchenne smile reachesbefore the mubble fubblesopen their account.Nimiety is blackballedby all clubs or collectives. Again and again,I spread my rosterat the shrine of excess.Transitions bring outclefts in a close-up.The sharp creates a new sketch.Judicious cheeseparing … [Read more...] about Landing 2, By: Sanjeev Sethi
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – III. – At Rome, By: William Wordsworth
Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock,Tarpeian named of yore, and keeping stillThat name, a local Phantom proud to mockThe Traveler's expectation? Could our WillDestroy the ideal Power within, 'twere doneThro' what men see and touch, slaves wandering on,Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill.Full oft, our wish obtained, … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – III. – At Rome, By: William Wordsworth
Harper’s New Beginning, By: Andrew Cyr
Harper stood in frontof the bathroom mirrorand smoothed her tan skirtbelow her knees. She adjusted her navy blazer.She painted her lips redand fluffed her long, dark hairthat spiraled to the small of her back. Harper grinned, winked at herselfand turned off the light.Harper knew better thanto put herself down,so she accepted what she saw. She moved over the cream … [Read more...] about Harper’s New Beginning, By: Andrew Cyr
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – II. – The Pine Of Monte Mario At Rome, By: William Wordsworth
I saw far off the dark top of a PineLook like a cloud, a slender stem the tieThat bound it to its native earth, poised high'Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,Striving in peace each other to outshine.But when I learned the Tree was living there,Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont's care,Oh, what a gush of tenderness was mine!The rescued Pine-Tree, with its sky so … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – II. – The Pine Of Monte Mario At Rome, By: William Wordsworth
End Of The Season, By: Mary Bone
It was the end of the season.Cooler temps were on the way.It had been a long, hot summer.Grasshoppers took over the garden-without rhyme or reason. … [Read more...] about End Of The Season, By: Mary Bone




