Here as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew
– Oliver Goldsmith
The Deserted Village
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Tag Archives: #poetry
Sunset Over Lake
A language of loss and renewal, etched in the mist.
The willows lean in, trailing ink across the shore.
What we remember is always half-shadow, half-dream –
The lake holds it all.
Dream Variations
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
– Langston Hughes
Art
I am tying up all my love in this,
With all its hopes and fears,
With all its anguish and all its bliss,
And its hours as heavy as years.
— James Thomson
Butterflies
蝶々や
夢うつつとは
知らずとも
Butterflies—
Be it dream or wakefulness?
They flit, unknowing.
— jujube
The Memory of the Young
The memory of the young is leap-by-leap.
It sweeps itself for clues to its song.
— Maria Hummel
“Five Chinese Verses”
Don’t speak to me of sorghum
Red fields, pressed up toward a sky
Whatever called to me there
Too wild, attempting a face
Old verses for my father
Dignify the cooling page
Black earth is the word it makes
Tilts forward, consequential
— Wendy Xu
Reflections
Like liquid shadows. The ice is thin
Whose mirror smears them as it intercepts
withdrawing colours; and where the crust,
as if a skin livid with tautening scars…
— by Charles Tomlinson
Solemn Traveling
It has been solemn traveling
A night and a day
This road running straightly northwards;
None went my way.
— Rosamund Dargan Thomson
Memorial Day
The morning may be brilliant; the season
is one of brilliances—sunlight through
the fountained willow behind us, its splayed
shadow spreading westward, our shadows westward,
irregular across damp grass, the close-set stones.
— Michael Anania
Unusual Colors - Digital and AI art 