Poetry (quote)

(photo source: unsplash)   Poetry is language used with intensity. It is not, as so many suppose, decorative speech. Poets tell us what our eyes, blurred with too much gawking, and our ears, dulled with too much chatter, miss around and within us. Poets use words...

Messenger (poem by Mary Oliver)

  Messenger by Mary Oliver   My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand. Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I...

The Last Days of August

      … and so the day slips   the long mournings of trees last traces of gold     © prasanta  –  August 2018     “August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” ― Sylvia...

unspoken words (poem)

Where do uspoken words go Forgotten in some collective conscious of empty, unwritten volumes, filling dust lined shelves Perhaps filling oceans replete with missed opportunities and golden intentions Perhaps tossed on the wayside of unknown gardens, wildflowers...

Fire Pit (poem)

Flies, bees, fireflies whirr in summer heat circulating like blood in a heart, pumping much needed oxygen to weary limbs that would die without air What stays, stands near, surrounds, envelops the air, the outline of our skin? Dig a hole, build a fire pit, watch...

Moonrise (poem)

Moonrise Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear-head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song, On the bank we share our arrows— The loosed string tells our note: O flight, Bring her swiftly to our song. She is great, We measure her by the...

The Making (poem)

  Scattered, broken particles must be remade after life on earth snaps, crushes each bone… Read the rest of the poem posted today on Altarwork….   © prasanta 2018