In A Station Of The Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough. — Ezra Pound
Category: anthology
Up Late
From Kurt over at The Coffee Sutras, an excellent haiku: Reading Basho late, a lone bird still sings outside– my bed is empty
Love (III)
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lacked anything. “A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here”: Love said, “You shall be he.” “I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, … Continue reading Love (III)
Rainy Morning
You don’t love the world. If you loved the world you’d have images in your poems. John loves the world. He has a motto: judge not lest ye be judged. Don’t argue this point on the theory it isn’t possible to love what one refuses to know: to refuse speech is not to suppress perception. … Continue reading Rainy Morning
white pebble 