Surrealist dreamscape through a wormhole—a poem by Michael Dickel.
Faruk Buzhala, an Albanian from Kosovo, shares three poems—one written in English, two translated from Albanian.
Short poem and art—a cold and wet egret. I could say I have no egrets, but it wouldn’t be true.
“Her (dis)like of poetry showed through
her pure contempt while reading it.…” —poem on Marianne Moore’s “Poetry.”
Want to dive into monstrous conversations firing missiles across continental divides? Write your opinion! Hybrid flash by Michael Dickel
Storm-driven sea and terror-driven police—combine images for our time. | Poem by Michael Dickel
The poem has four stanzas of 9 lines each, for 36 lines (double 18), not counting the epigrams from Genet. Each line has 9 syllables. The total number of syllables is 324, plus the 36 lines, equals 360—the number of degrees in a circle. Chai, Hebrew for life, equals 18 according to gematria. So, 36 lines, double 18, is double life.
An ant, a piece of dinosaur’s tail, stuck in amber—art, science, poetry. Ekphrasis of Amber, a poem by Michael Dickel, artwork by Judith Appleton.
A hybrid essay-fiction flash set in a mystical garden that doesn’t exist in Jerusalem Recalled but possibly in Jerusalem Imagined.
Beware false prophecies and Amerika for spatial lies for ambling waves of greed…
When they made strange fire in an idolatrous offering, the earth opened and swallowed them whole—as now, with the inauguration of Fub, The Pretender, 20 Jan 2017. Prose poem by Michael Dickel.
The MLK weekend, a rainy day near Jerusalem, contemplating the U.S. inauguration coming up Friday, 20 Jan, 2017. A prose poem by Michael Dickel.
The Palm Reading after The Toad’s Garden (Is a Rose Press 2016), my fourth book, gathers flash fiction written in recent years (much of it for this blog)—from a series of surreal memoryscapes (featuring the woman with a beard and her friend, the metaphysical toad) to flash thrillers […]
An epistemological poem on the winter solstice, philosophy, and a ginger cat—by Michael Dickel, with digital artwork.
Afraid & weak, NAZI werewolves bark, bite, howl, yip. If they didn’t run in packs, they’d be nothing, pornography.
My latest piece in The BeZine— After the election I find it difficult to write (just, justly) about (love, loving kindness, grace). Followed, as the election was, by the death of Leonard Cohen… Source: Hate is not the opposite of Love
Hi there imagined readers, I have renamed my blog from Fragments of Michael Dickel to Fragmentarily/ Meta-Phor(e) /Play as I move towards publishing more writing by others and having my blog more of a journal / personal literary magazine of writing and writers that I like. I expect to […]
Saturday evening song — Song of Obscurity (poem) — on Fragmentarily/ Meta-Phor(e) /Play