by phillipw | Dec 29, 2025 | DE, HA, Uncategorized
Haddocks’ Eyes Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem A day of light starts To shine upon the heads of Netted pilchard eyes. ~ Buson [Englished by Phillip Whidden] The dawn comes up, so slow, so slow, yet not...
by phillipw | Dec 28, 2025 | UN
The Escapeless Religion Forget about the pleasantness of love. You know the loving that hearts mean when they Are hopeless, holding dreaminess above The hormones that produce escapeless sway, Those hormones like addiction. You adhere To it as if hot heroin,...
by phillipw | Dec 28, 2025 | AN, GA, MA, Uncategorized, VI
August is the Cruellest Month Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem “And the angel departed” Luke 1:38 The morning of that life begins in dark Of Friday’s night, of Sabbath evening. Long, That...
by phillipw | Dec 28, 2025 | PA
The New Year, the New Sabbath Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem “The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals” ~ Abraham Joshua Heschel The sameness comes again. The sameness comes As difference. Paradox dwells...
by phillipw | Dec 28, 2025 | PA
The New Year, the New Sabbath Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem “The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals” ~ Abraham Joshua Heschel The sameness comes again. The sameness comes As difference. Paradox dwells...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2025 | PE, RE
Above Skiddaw Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem Skiddaw We see in, through the life of wings, and so We think we know the gods. An eagle’s soar Is ours and so we sense that Horus’ glow Lies in our...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2025 | CH
Without Our Will… Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem Not even gods can separate the things Of time from timelessness, the times profane From holiness. Our Tuesday times have wings If only we attach...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2025 | Uncategorized
The Reader and the Writer The reader makes the writing what it wants To be, alive. Until that moment it Is dead black ink. That blackness only haunts The pages. Then the reader’s séance, wit And trancing mind call writing from its grave. The story or the poem lives...
