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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: April 2009

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When we talk in the evenings. In our different languages,. Intonations of both alike,. We bring in new york and jerez. Posted by Trisha Bora. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). The Curious Journal of a Lepidopterologist' - Pyrta Journal. 1962' - Out of Print. Doctors and peaches - Nth Position. Margot and the nuclear so and so's by the seaside - Hari Batti's Green Light Dhaba. Paper boats - The Furnace Review. Paper boats - Tongues of the Ocean. The irishman in my backyard - Asia Writes. Two poems - Hudson View.

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: The big 'first date' rule

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The big 'first date' rule. 1) Go a few drinks down. For suddenly hedge funds and the politics of Proust can take on a life of their own. You never knew, till now, that these two subjects had the potential for happiness. Never mind the fact that it is actually a spot of red wine that you accidently spilled on him while frantically waving at someone you thought was your friend, but wasn’t. A rose it is. In a nutshell, it will be fun or, if I'm feeling old fashioned, a rather gay affair. 25 July, 2011.

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: An incurable romantic

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2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: 1962

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Is the professor in? There's something he might like to see.' The words were a rumble in his mouth. He is I'll fetch him for you.' I fought back the urge to ask what it was. Back in the house, the blood filled my cheeks again. I knew where he'd be. The wooden stairs creaked under my feet. The Aka brothers are here. They say there's something that you might like to see.'. Not for the world am I missing this.'. Not the best thing to do now. They will take their share first.' He gestured with his to...He la...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: January 2011

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Everything is in the words. Like twisting the night into spools of time. sometimes I am still like the made bed, waiting for the weight of arms and legs and backs, and at others I am the dinner tray, wine and clams and reluctant poinsettias, set for dining. but all the while the television set threatens to burst into life. To think that rain can be alive in a square,. Where the wind, thick with salt, presses into the mast, breathing it on across the rough breadth, and the waves lash against the hull &#82...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: July 2010

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The stories that crowd. The walls of my room. Jostle and elbow each other. In a last ditch to be heard. Before they’re packed away. In brown cardboard boxes. I lay back on my bed. And snap at them,. 8216;Hush now all of you. I’ve had your stories. Now you’ll have mine.’. It is the best of times,. It is the worst of times. The Blue God sings his song. The horses slip in the mud,. The archers squint in the rain. While they wait for. The Seamstress a visit. He has news for her;. The kings of Macedonia.

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: December 2010

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The ordinariness of being. And how can I begin to tell you,. While waiting for something as ordinary as lunch,. And with just these mere days lining my jacket, how the city lit up. One evening under the behemoth Russian sky that. Burn Baudelaire, the gospels I had been reading,. To turn the grey in your beard silver? Suddenly make no sense at all. And what if we missed the sunset,. A silhouette of the sun creeping across the sky, sold gabardines,. Dismissed the constellations, pillaged graveyard towns,.

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: July 2011

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: pornografia

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011/01/pornografia.html

Everything is in the words. Like twisting the night into spools of time. sometimes I am still like the made bed, waiting for the weight of arms and legs and backs, and at others I am the dinner tray, wine and clams and reluctant poinsettias, set for dining. but all the while the television set threatens to burst into life. To think that rain can be alive in a square,. Where the wind, thick with salt, presses into the mast, breathing it on across the rough breadth, and the waves lash against the hull &#82...