by Douglas Polk
warm west winds blow the cold beyond the plains,
to the forests of the eastern lands,
already full of ice and snow,
geese take flight overhead,
a springtime feast in the fields of cornstalks,
awaiting the plow,
and a new beginning.
Eucalyptus Grove, morning
by Neal Dachstadter
Quiet Eucalyptus Grove
In the shallows
Of the cove
Root and trunk and branches wove
‘Mid a muddy treasure trove.
Well - appointed campus lake;
Wealthy waters, rich to slake
Duck and egret, fish and snake.
Silent Eucalyptus brake!
Peaceful while thy land was French
Peaceful while I manned my bench
Content ye graze and ever quench
Content we gaze and never flinch.
by John Garmon
Long afternoons of boredom drive
students in this warm room
to scribble words
that carry them
outside these walls
to a land of doodles
where it's okay to draw
anything their minds
imagine in space and time
on this planet or another
beyond where they were
when they began to draw
lines and images from
a well somewhere inside
their reservoirs of
imagination over and
above the limits
of the unconscious
natural pictures exposed
in their personal darkrooms
from which all thoughts
send rare automatic symbols
they themselves aren't always
whatever would emerge
by Kushal Poddar
I flew too long
within this cage.
Now you open
my ribs and say,
How can I?
What the heart chooses to see
by Gordon Purkis
There’s light so I can see you,
even if it’s to perceive only a
rudimentary outline – and what
the heart chooses to see or not see is
either absorbed or deflected by it
according to its whim.
But there are so many other sensations
I’d like to know,
to touch, hear, smell and taste you are
likewise hung up high in heaven
just out of reach
like when I close my eyes
I never dream of you.
Yet light can be counted on.
It was the first thing that made all
other things possible – though not all visible –
some still remain just out of reach.
Eyes tell you they can
but your heart knows differently.
Poehemian: a poet or artist who does not adhere to the norm; a bohemian of poetry or art; a poet or artist who is quite possibly (subconsciously or consciously) inspired by the great Edgar Allan Poe.
"With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night." -Edgar Allan Poe
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development,
invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'" -Edgar Allan Poe
"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe
"There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm." -Edgar Allan Poe
"I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Never to suffer would never to have been blessed." -Edgar Allan Poe
"It may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma... which human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve." -Edgar Allan Poe
"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry." -Edgar Allan Poe
"I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat." -Edgar Allan Poe
"We loved with a love that was more than love." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute." -Edgar Allan Poe
"And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams, Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams -- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Can it be fancied that Deity ever vindictively, Made in his image a mannikin merely to madden it?"
"The most natural, and, consequently, the truest and most intense of the human affections are those which arise in the heart as if by electric sympathy." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The customs of the world are so many conventional follies." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence— whether much that is glorious— whether all that is profound— does not spring from disease of thought— from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn,—not the material of my every-day existence-- but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself." -Edgar Allan Poe