New York Pitch Conferences and Reviews, Algonkian Writer Conferences, Poetry and Authors

Been there. You nailed the cyclical nature.Good, very real

Thank you meenas

Much to like about this Bob, though it lacks the punch of many other of your poems. It's wistful and endearing

Yeah. 50 years ago it was a big deal

Thanks guys. It's just not a very good poem. Might use parts of it for another poem

Yay
Way to go Bob. Knew it.

When I think of all the times I've been laid low and the bitters of inadequacy roil my sleep, I remember greater men than me lived as wisps; smoke rings that roll in perfect concentricity until dissipated by the greater air. For all the beauty he left, Van Gogh is remembered as much for painting wit...

Ha. This is wonderful. Love "clearly they have the wrong man.". Saw a meme recently that said, "When I die, check my pockets. I may still have your lighter."

Great poem.

Thanks Siva. Thanks Bob

Thanks Siva

For no other reason than I awoke with a stir from a sound sleep at 3 A.M. in the Goddamn morning, Jasper and Boaz reject their own ideology, abandon the scratch post just to be in My presence. They push their faces so close to mine I can feel the small breath dissipate against the sensitivity of my ...

Thank you

Been working on it a few weeks. I'm out of ideas

Bump

I wasn't familiar with comarants so had to look them up.
Fascinating. Good metaphor on corporate life, or life in general, how we have so much less power than we believe. This makes me a little angry. It's a good poem

Good premise. Enjoyable, we can all relate. My library is a source of pride and comfort

Thank you meenas

These people were the intellectual elite of their day, yet acted like schoolchildren. I like the period "dear reader"reference. Good work.

Eira, this is well rendered with rhyme. Sad poem against the backdrop of autumn.

Thanks Michael. Circles it is. I have no great ambition for this. It was utilitarian for me; needed to be wtitten.

If holiness were a destination, The faithful would grow wings. In Baku, there is an altar to Ahura Mazda, where fire licks the ground like a lover's tongue parts lips. We leave an offering; wine made from honey, and a gourd of goat curd. From the time of Alexander they have returned the dead to the ...

Good. I was expecting something overly emotional.

Thanks Eira

This is an alternate version. I've never written a rant. When they pore through your archeology, sift the cerebral landscape for clues to the genesis of your heinousness tell them this: As a child, your favorite pull toy was a mechanical puppy whose tail was a spring, its not-quite head screws in an...