There we stood in the drizzle of trefoil, key-like petals of arches
touching our skin,
our shirts wet with magnificence.
I can take no more, for fear I crumble
under the oval grace,
for fear I’m crushed
by the Lion’s shade.
"And how remote that bare and sunscrubbed room, Intensely far, that padlocked cube of light We neither define nor prove, Where you...
The Canadian poet Christian Bök (b. 1966) is the author of a singular book of poetry – Eunoia, a book that was awarded the Griffin poet...
Contemporary poetry, in incessant flux & search of new poetic formulas, appears to have an unbounded arsenal at its disposal: cultural ...
A new word in the vocabulary - the name of a volcano in Island that had turned upside down quite a few plans and even more fumes: Eyjafjalla...
I am persuaded that inside each interesting poem, there must exist some sort of pause, a deep seated harmonic lull and/or apex of quietnes...
The Witch with a Very Large Hat is a short children's film for Halloween. If you liked this story, you can check out our recent boo...
March 19th, an after glow of Saint Patrick’s Day. A reason to talk about Seamus Heaney’s poetry. Seeing Things, a book of poems publ...
An original drawing by Tatiana here --> The ballet lesson.