Category: Poems

Painting Biagio Fortini, Italy Genesis Every poem begins in the morning, with the sun. Even if the poem is not visible (that means rainy sky) the poem is

Photo Germain Droogenbroodt   12 February 1983 His age, a lot of wrinkles. He wasn’t always like that; he used to drink red wine; once he felt guilty,

Picture by Germain Droogenbroodt   Tale of a Faithful Wife When you winged to a distant land of blue mountains, I didn’t weep badly as faithful wives do,

I Raise My Glass I raise my glass. In my colourless wine, gallops the verse. It seeks the region of the sublime, but collides with the fatal limit

                                                                             Painting by Luis Pla The Job   I write to feel in my veins the flight of the stone. The anticipation of peace in this

To Ávila numerous cracks in the wall are not signs of decay but like the wrinkles on a noble face they are the deep traces of an ancient

Painting by K. Nielsen   YOUR IMAGE BETWEEN MY FINGERS One evening we were walking by the lake, Mom. The swans slipped slowly on its surface in the

Arte mural de la diosa celta Brígida, Etsy.com  Brigid, Goddess of Light Watching our world burn, you must wonder how we have wandered so far from your way.

Dark Night The flowers withered, their petals fell stained with ochre. The blizzard did it for them with an immense whirlwind that unleashed its fury, lashing villages and

Picture Ineke Janssen https://vanonsvandaan.wordpress.com Evening Return Entrenched in silence, we wait for news From the outside world that not yet wants to come at once. We sit in