While the Angry Earth Growls Beneath my Feet

Auditory Visions as a youth, early morning dawn where sun greets this fiery lake, a day (or was it, days), of skipping school leading to a barren wilderness of pre-mature philosophical truths, while the angry earth growls beneath my feet, I walk on in later years upon the “black ice” of the day and rising […]

The Violinist

The concerto begins as she lifts her bow and resting her stringed instrument gently across her neck & shoulder. The notes begin slowly as one sweet note after another in an even tempo. By her lead others slowly discover their own way into the melody and create song within a beautiful harmony. No words are […]

Morning Tea brings a Rejoiceful Sound of Liberation

John G Evans c 2019 A tall glass of flavorful tea, memories of mine have always enriched me, made me stronger in the early morning, almost fall-like breeze. A few notes from I Am: The Tiny Mustard Seed: So, where is home? Home is where the dust cries in a foreign land, as we all […]

Silver Love Under a Crescent Moon

O love! This contented night of a crescent moon lie sweetly b’ neath a drunken sky, and your hips of round succumb to the dark, the burn of love persuades me to dance naked with imparted lips, the slaughter of my soul…and finger-tips. The tilt of your head as the burn rushes through, the salted […]

Villanelle of the Eastern Pond

John G Evans © 2019 Arise, dear child! Walk due East: I have come to greet you, Behold! Our open hearts shall meet. This eastern pond, My masterpiece I’ve spoken words here, created, anew Arise, dear child! Embrace this peace. Through wood, and hill I shall guide your feet Envision this pond filled with morning […]

Whitman: A Word Cloud Poem

John G Evans © 2019 Poetry  translate           experience life             cynical             lack of trust     injured             as a child            humanity factor          vision of hope             the still woods             naked in all my truths Plant you permanently within us        insatiate           minsters           sour death       To experience the translation of a poet, why, it makes sense. Though life, […]

Distant Shores in a Four-Bedroom House

Pacing – four walls I call home is not easy             Cutting a rug to distant shores I see a Samurai sword, a painting of a junk rig, an iron peacock, a woman warrior,             and a Hindu Holy man photographed by Joey L. I appear to enjoy the journey             It appeals to my […]