15 poems left by her

Deplina-mi existență a fost cutremurată

de către cei mai caști zei,

tocmai pentru a conștientiza

certul destin final .

Natura consimte să te unească de mine,

de omul înverșunat care sunt .

Ce amenți rozalii se ivesc în colțurile

gurii tale atunci când îmi surâzi

și se alungesc până-n ochii tăi febrili

plesnind într-un crepuscul de foc,

în care de mult vreau să mistuiesc .

Între timp noi imprimăm anii de grandoare și conturăm o bravă istorie aparte.

Ah, în ce estetic chatarsis mă învălui !

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Humanity Is Our Business (1/7): The Overall Vision

Everybody Means Something

From time to time it comes to seem appropriate to republish a much earlier sequence from 2009 on the Bahá’í approach to healing our wounded world. Recent events across many countries again makes it seem timely to revisit this sequence. The posts will appear over the next two weeks.

Who Do You Think You Are?

We were half way through a new series of the popular BBC show, Who Do You Think You Are, which sees celebrities exploring the secrets of their family trees, reacting to their unpredictable discoveries with a combination of tears and elation. It was fascinating viewing and its popularity tells us a lot about where we look when we are seeking clues to our identity.

Our search could take another direction altogether. Instead of looking to the past we could look towards the future. Instead of seeing ourselves shaped by ancestral experiences and our genetic heritage, and behaving accordingly…

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Hurting – Fiction in Five Sentences

a cooking pot and twisted tales

Image result for images of a sad child and a dog

Tears ran down the bridge of Jane’s little nose and fell on Captain.

Huddled near her best friend Captain she tried to drown out their screaming voices.

She never liked it when they fought and they seemed to do it more and more.

Dad would storm out and disappear for days and mum would go round the bend all teary and mad.

She wished she was back at her gran’s house.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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trench man #5: the nature of the job

Frank Prem Poetry

his job
is the creation
of absence

each shovel filled
is a movement
negative space

the measure
of his work
is the quality
of removal

straight walls
level floor
just so
just so

all of it filled
through his diligence
with nothing

© Frank Prem, 2017

June 2017 Poem #14: tba

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