texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to Volodymyr Bilyk at email@example.com for consideration...
Friday, March 23, 2012
haibun || Sheila E. Murphy
The majesty (his majesty) revokes itself while he observes
the trees and shoots and little blades of grass. For he
is partial to the wholeness. Even its infancy in spring
exceeds experience. The measure of the man, the fresh,
lithe possibility of new ways to emerge. Sun shines across
his face. He does not notice. He absorbs the sun, his skin
accepts, and he has changed during the little while that
he is here. If daylight is a sacrament, he does not notice,
fear, or hold desire. A breeze comes then to brush the
surface of the lawn. Whatever manicure adjusts the natural
path, he knows as scenery until the light smoothes down into
another land. The flow is dance, unless he walks away from
knowing. Unless he lives apart from what is learned.