Days we witness

Days we witness In the valley of the Agly River where the Boulzane runs down from Caudiès the aeolian blades lazy in dry wind whispering down from Pic de Madres snow-glazed big rock-candy mountain where eagles survive and rise counting the days we witness together   . Photograph by D Young

A Tuesday five-liner

waking up this morning icy tramontana broad shouldered gale blatant enemy of trance thief of peace and sleep Photograph ©D Young. St. Paul de Fenouillet, October 2015. Cinquain ©R Young

Oh Love Ophelia what have you done

Oh love darling partner in this journey home you walk me up rue Arago in the dark dawn lights in the Bar de la Paix sandy-hair’d dogs ready in the streets to accept offerings black sacks of ordures ripe and stinky petty criminals howling after sunrise up the valley the chattering chorus of birds on... Continue Reading →

les peupliers d’octobre

les peupliers d’octobre éclat d’or foudroyant aussi tôt comme moi-même First try at this (both the haiku form and composing in French) hope it works. Does French seem to lend itself to haiku? Maybe haiku lends itself to . . . everything—which would include French?) ©R Young

Gas for the multitudes

Gas for the multitudes We were all geared up for this gig, don’t get me wrong, it’s true: loyalty, guts, & Diner’s Club cards the Boss demanded of his crew to cover, you know, expenses for the road: sinkers, felt-tipped pens, voltage meters, cottonseed oil, Argo starch, bicycle chains rabbit-skin glue, & cans of skeeter... Continue Reading →

The Last Violinist

Photograph by Diana Young. Rosin in the nose, horsehairs eking out arabesques composed in olden times longer ago from this moment until the day when time runs out for us When our time runs short will the violinist be able to play us out with subtle style and grace at the end What if the... Continue Reading →

Up ↑