Three times a day, Manoli climbs up the gas pipe in the garden and leaps up to the first-floor balcony, where he mioaos at the window insistently until I open the door for him. Thus am I interrupted from my writing... Is he my cat or am I his human?
Why do you read this when you could be reading so many other things instead? Is it because you are hoping to find here something useful, fun, romantic? Is it out of solidarity with someone who has veered off the common path in order to write as a way of life? Or are you just … Continue reading Hey You!
I have no rhymes for you, no metaphors And sonnets are old-fashioned. I could compare you to something beautiful, Compare you to the Moon undressing of her pride To bathe in a turquoise lagoon Garlanded with coral reefs And fanned by palms and birds of paradise. But you are nothing like that You are Swish-whoosh-twinkle-twinkle-flutter-flutter … Continue reading Quiet Flutter