Here’s a very good poem by Milosz…
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Something was needed, a weight bearing substance or a strong back. Only children answered the call. Only the children …
The petals have dried and fallen away. Only stems and seed pods remain. I call them daisies out of habit …
Thought springs forth. We are here, cumulating a past, projecting absolute desire as self; mysterious self? Mystery is rock, is …
The mirror, too full of reflection, fogs in this cold, cabined air. Blowing the night’s embers, drawing a small fire …
A lamentation for the coming of the light… The day comes on, relentless in its rising. The bedroom reeks of …
An addition to the previous post In the Third Person…please bear with me. It all comes good somewhere down the line, …
This season is gone, trailing its pungent remains: leaf rot, mushrooms, uneaten fruit decaying back to their elements, covering the …
This is the first stanza, or maybe the whole poem… It’s not a grammatical error. It is an existential problem. …
The flames don’t really know anything about convection or kelvin or thermodynamics. Flame is just a brute fact like entropy …