The springtide wakes up not only in dreams.
The snowdrops blowing in moony garths.
One listens to propitious paradise.
The dearest graylag geese coming in flocks. [Read the rest...] “The spring awakening. The sonnet | Pawel Markiewicz”
Across the Atlantic
:: Poetry from across the world. Poetry knows no borders or nations. Indian Review bring you more poetry to interact with poets and readers in the border less zone of poetry. Read, enjoy and do share the joy of literature.
The Old Lagoon Dog Bears Witness to the War’s Atrocities | C. Christine Fair
Whelped behind an old Hindu temple on the road linking the beach of Mullaitivu and the lagoon, she was the lone survivor of her pack easily recognized by her light brown coat, perky ears, pointed snout and delicate feet.
The … [Read the rest...] “The Old Lagoon Dog Bears Witness to the War’s Atrocities | C. Christine Fair”
The bee in the Calyx | Pawel Markiewicz
muse-like moment of charm such an Apollonian tear
when the cute bee set down on a noble rose
in the kind calyx of the bloom full dreamy splendor
the gentle sun smiled at that time at it fairy-like
[Read the rest...] “The bee in the Calyx | Pawel Markiewicz”
Another Year (After Su Dongpo)
I open my window,
and breathe the spring air.
I gaze at the new moon.
Tonight, it’s incredibly clear.
I hear the crickets,
hidden in the grass,
[Read the rest...] “Another Year (After Su Dongpo)”
The River will Flow (Afer Li Po)
I drink wine by the river.
I can barely see it,
and I hear it as in a dream.
Are things as they seem?
My wife is now dead.
Wind rustles the leaves
[Read the rest...] “The River will Flow (Afer Li Po)”
Mount Zion Church, Grant Takes Command | Keith Moul
War dead fell in patterns around craters, and
will long enrich the battlefield. Some forever
will inhabit the soil. Survivors, like shadows,
return to circle the lush grass; argue possible
versions of their own history. Since victory,
I offer my … [Read the rest...] “Mount Zion Church, Grant Takes Command | Keith Moul”
Dolly’s Place on S.R. 29 | Keith Moul
Dolly’s life and my life proceeded apace, anyway,
but only since 1996 overlapping at her prairie cafe.
She was only thirty when the former operator quit
the lease, held so long patrons forgot “before Bill.”
At sixty years, I only … [Read the rest...] “Dolly’s Place on S.R. 29 | Keith Moul”
Red Light Run | Joe Albanese
Maybe I’ve always chosen
the cloth monkey
over
the wire one, tazing
myself with absorption
Maybe I chewed the
apple
straight to the cyanide
Maybe I
queued behind myself,
ouroboros once or twice or
ten times over
Maybe I’m Sisyphus … [Read the rest...] “Red Light Run | Joe Albanese”
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