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

A wholesome baby, plump and bald, with big eyes, without a chin born as a fourth child, lies pretty smiling all the way, a contented child, as seen from the day of birth, stays happy the rest of the years. Two more siblings, boys, come after her in an interval of few years. add to the bustle. The fa...

The farthest turns the nearest. science manipulates while the poor poets eulogize all the more,the missile a and the lander strike. No more of singing the beauty of Moon, the pictures shot by the rockets reveal nothing grand. The planet is another with crates and rocks an uneven terrain not the most...

Good one, Ken though not the best.

Beautiful writing , Bob. You rock.
Wish I could write like you.

Congrats! Bob.

Yes , trimming could make it better.
I will post a revision .
Thanks, Bob

Thanks Ken.

lie my literature books.perfectly bounded neatly covered in brown. They are my proud possession, been with me for years right from my college days, Those days, how I read line by line the poems and dramas. how much I enjoyed, how well I performed, History Of English Literature a wholesome edition, a...

Love the imagery Eira.
the concluding line of autumn;s breath --- a phantom turns to mist leaves a picturesque image.

Michael has summed up the exquisiteness of the poem,by saying it will find a home in Dante journal.

Nicely pictured the eccentricities of Shelley and Byron,
" a meadow of perfumes" illustrates their infirmities with a soft echo.

Interesting read, Ken. The shooter playing with a toy, poking his sister's Barbie, all seem normal.
The shooting and the aftermath, terrible to go through, Ken.

Reading through I could feel the presence of the spirit.
The cats scratching the door, the downstairs neighbour talking about her presence adds more fear.
The last stanza is traumatic.

Well written, Subject is not my choice.

The poem I would have written, Playing on the violin, trying to master the notes, I scrape faster and faster. Walking towards the kitchen to whisk an omelet as usual, I did not expect to see you toppled, over onto the linoleum, your doggy paws curled and shaking like small fists? I tremble even now ...

Ken, thanks for the comparison to Emily Dickinson.

Bob, I comment on other poems. Might be they are brief, I will try to involve with elaborate criticism.
Thanks Bob.

She is the most adorable I go round in circles when I notice her, that I rarely do. I fondle,run my fingers, tap her. She is passive. Feel she likes my overtures. Being lovely, at the same very thoughtful, she leads me out of adversaries with such felicity. She is lifelike all the more, nestles agai...

Bob, you help me a lot to fine tune my writing
Thanks,

Your brief comment encourages me, Ken.
Makes me feel, Well, I do write some good verse.
Thanks.

Both are good, Bob.

Lovely write.
The bicycle with one wheel down, the rusted bell, t he Ex's dictum all go to make the poem vibrant.

The water starved town congregates in the temple. Shlokas and hymns call Varuna, the Rain God, who is indignantly obstinate refuses to condescend. Weeks together, the invocation goes on. The Yagnas try to appease Varuna. The fumes rise up, cajole him with aromatic infiltration. Rag, Ananda Amirtavar...

Facebook has become part of our life.
It is being referred to in a poem.
This one, Eira, is as by far the comments go gentle and warm.

With Ken seconding Eira's the selection comes to an end.
All three are very good poems,
They will win recognition.

Never heard of this story, Ken.
Lord finds all equal.
Hinduism says crows represent the ancestors.
Thanks for sharing.