Painting by FRANS MINNAERT TAIWAN ISLAND From the waves of white satin You emerge as island. The dense forest of black hair Drifts with nostalgic yearning, On the

Ithaca 4th August 2026     I plant a coco palm, a lichee and a custard-apple   I dig a hole in my garden’s stony ground ensile in

Claude Monet, Water Lilies   THE POND   My childhood is today a great pond where I look at myself. At its green lichen bottom, are stones covered

Paternsonix POETRY   They are not heavenly voices speaking to us from deep in the distance. They are well-loved voices, inner voices, faraway voices, voices that signal a

Vincent Van Gogh   Short description of a summer   Fires. The summer blazes fourfold from all sides. The acacia groves are in a stunning bloom. In the

Artificial Intelligence Will our eyes soon see what themselves see? Will our brains still think what they think? Will we still be who we are? Germain Droogenbroodt III

TO THE DEAD POET OF OBSCURITY (In honor of the dead unpublished poet) Well done! You have won! You should not feel sorry Your unpublished poems -Always remember-

THAT PLUM TREE There are jasmines in all these gardens. I remember that plum tree that blossomed In every breezy and clear spring. The plum tree that sheltered

WITH A CHILD’S EYES   I want to see the world with a child’s eyes, almond-shaped, clear, limpid, and innocent: a meadow where people and flowers grow, where

The Seed of Poetry     A poem is a small seed, a life that breathes while waiting for light. Where the eyes and the mind rest, it