Journal of Literature & Art
Friends! Writers! Poets!
Journal of Literature & Art (in print) has made it’s debut in Brazil, now here it is presented by Carol P. ArtBrazil, an online edition. Please check us out.
Our Journal of Literature and Arts is a non-profit publication, published in the State of Bahia, Brazil, but edited from here to there: Bahia and Minas Gerais (in Brazil - writer/poet Germano and Carol Piva), and San Diego, California (in the US - poetess Karime).
O Equador das Coisas (online edition)
I am also now open to POETRY suggestions/submissions, if you are interested in having your words travel to beautiful Bahia, email me at karimelimon@gmail.com
Enjoy & Share!
Please share with anyone and everyone who might be interested in this!!
Source: thehologram
Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.
Source: nenuphar-rose
Ruined
It dissolved,
grew so hot it melted,
lost its form
like a candle on a windowsill in summer.
To gather it up
is to carry molasses in the hands,
hot treacle,
or boiling tar.
It spilled,
the precious vile tilted.
Hands cupped
a hopeless effort of salvation.
What was once lovely
and sweetly scented
is now maladroit
as chewing gum in the hair.
It severed
blood oozing
seeping from a wound
dimwitted sap
drooling over hands
ridiculous to gather,
a laughable need to be clean.
It dripped
painfully slow,
coating finger and palm.
Imposible to dissuade,
sticking to itself,
resistant to all that it used to attract,
a magnet for everything else.
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Day 7 - Whatever
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Day 6 - Haiku
(The friend I am doing this with chose the picture, we chose the picture we used for each others Haiku!)
The Clock
Turning out the light, the darkness ambushed like a tidal wave of nothingness. A darkness so thick it makes the ears hum deep inside. In this bleak suffocation one sound is noticed, a sound that seems to come form the back of the inside of the head, a monotonous thud, a precise, and cold and relentless tick and tock. A clock. Suddenly time is noticed. Time, time is detected, time has made itself known. The light is turned back on and the clock located. this time piece, this announcer of time with its FACE and its HANDS, face and hands, a face and hands on the wall telling the world that time has passed. Just like these hands. these calloused, scared hands, skin not quite so supple, and fingers not quite so fast. And this face, turning the head sideways and looking into the mirror, this face also presenting to the world a passing of time. The crows feet around the eyes, and subtle dusting of grey in the stubble. Time passed. where did it go, surely there is more to suggest the passing of time than these decaying face and hands? tick-tock-tick-tock-tiCK-toCK-TICK-TOCK-TI C K - T O C K. The clock is taken off the wall, the battery removed. the light turned off and the darkness regains its assault once more.
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Day 5 - Prose. (never done it, dont know if it is even it or not!!)
WHY
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Day 4 - A rhyming poem. (and a self shot photo to go with it)
WHY
there is no such thing as failure
Source: thehologram
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Day 3 - A shape poem.
WHY
A Perfect Spring Day In March
Swimming deep
in a tall glass,
clouds of aniseed.
Lead light settling
across the table,
a vague orange,
an anaemic brown
flickering a deranged dance
Warmth,
with eyelids closed,
face pointing to the source.
Skin shivering gently
at the tender prickle of sun
I will not open my eyes
I will not observe my solitude
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Day 2 - Do not use the words AND, LIKE, BUT, and IS.
WHY
I Can’t Decide
A carp sucked a fly off the surface of the pond.
Or was it a child at the end of its milkshake?
A water feature persistently dribbled its mindless minuet.
Or was it a bag of pebbles being tipped out
onto concrete slabs?
A dog shouted out its frustrations
at the vexing satellites and flashing wing tips of aeroplanes
heading where he wants to be.
Why else would he be so upset?
Or was it a rubber band puled over a tissue box,
plucked without passion?
A Car drones past full of stories
and soft bass.
Or was it a cumbersome bug, an impossible bumblebee
meandering its way to another drunken rendezvous?
I cant decide, is it day
or is it night?
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Day 1 - Whatever.
WHY
