Literatură – Page 8 – Writer Between Worlds

In love

with our bodies we prayed in their mutual giving, and our souls we laid bare in hope-laden heaving – our hearts, back then, a warm, welcome den, irresistible to each other, like water, like fodder, our chests throbbing magnets with manifold facets, now trifling clocks counting down the roadblocks to fame and to glory, our…
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Blinding

blinding the sun in the autumn leaves after yesterday’s rain the smile on a child’s face when she’s healthy again headed to school to meet friends trying on a new outfit her and the planet both like plugging back the missing link in the circle of life. I need to go back to sleep but…
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The thicket

people have forged a pathway through the undergrowth, trampled the soggy earth, folded in leaves and twigs and absences, wet foliage overhead, burdened by clouds the color of sadness. my daily walk. I sidestep, eschew, go around greedy damp vegetating hands incessantly grabbing the narrowing light. I slither like a shadow among thorns. a stretch…
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People call it October (IV)

it’s fall. inexorable falling. the sun, now, nothing much but a hazy blotch of heat looking up from the water: sprawled, splayed, just light pouring, floating atop the river, blended with the chill. eddies of light quiet and deep crude glitter amid the discovery that foliage, quivering foliage can’t last; and time itself, being stripped,…
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People call it October (III)

the air is crisp and cool the leaves are crisp and dying your walk on the levee, now, a brisk jog home. the horizon, burgundy, ashen, like a once raging fire put out by the night. from the river banks, a spectral mist, rising – reeking of sweet rot, all-engulfing – makes everything forgotten: the…
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People call it October (II)

it’s always best when you don’t know where you’re going. let the path take you where you need to be. if your feet hurt, sit on the bristling grass, straddle the shoulder of that hill, whisper a loving prayer, or maybe even weep a little. put one foot forward – doesn’t matter which, but don’t…
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People call it October (I)

I walk. I think nothing of it. I walk. I hear nothing but the raspy sound my boots make on pebbles the wheezing past of dragonflies in their autumnal attire the leaves – still green, crackling dry, floating in silence without aim. people jogging, imagining they’re going places. dust. hearts beating, heaving, panting, the trunks…
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Quote of the day

“To pit oneself against the mountain is necessary for every climber; to pit oneself merely against other players, and make a race of it, is to reduce to the level of a game what is essentially an experience. (…) What he values is a task that, demanding of him all he has and is, absorbs…
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Quote of the day

“More and more of us live more and more separately from contact with nature. We have come increasingly to forget that our minds are shaped by the bodily experience of being in the world – its spaces, textures, sounds, smells and habits – as well as by genetic traits we inherit and ideologies we absorb.…
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I don’t

I don’t have the right face for my feelings. I’m not beautiful. My features aren’t exquisite – soft, elegant, dainty – no, they are quite banal. I have a mean frown and people suspect coarseness inside indeed my core is hard and rough and uneven – like scars, dry and drying, like crackling scales. I…
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On the outside, looking in

This, this, I tell myself, this see-through envelope of blueness that contains us, this fluid in which we move, this shallow film of sunlight collecting into magnanimous pools, rippling, cascading, eroding, building its deep dark wells of forgetfulness, turning our chunky limbs of flesh into ethereal shadows that precede us slanting, hovering, levitating, always one…
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Flash fiction Tuesday

Today’s challenge in the FB Group Ficțiuni Reale is “Romanian kiwi” – ideal for dystopia and eco-criticism. My contribution (in under 520 characters including spaces) below: Kiwi românesc Ia kiwi neamule, kiwi dulci ca mierea! striga precupeața. Vorba vine, nu era o femeie în carne și oase. Era Alexa conectată la GPT-24, o versiune ieftină. Scumpe foc.…
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Category: Literatură