Werewolves—The Hounds of Hate
Afraid & weak, NAZI werewolves bark, bite, howl, yip. If they didn’t run in packs, they’d be nothing, pornography.
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
Today’s online event for 100TPC 2016. Share your writing, art, music, videos, thoughts that relate to the themes of peace, sustainability, and social justice by posting them to our website today… Read the rest and share your work: 100TPC — 2016
Two poems recall nuclear anxiety, one by Mike Stone, one by Michael Dickel.
Two examples of socially-engaged poets from the first half of the Twentieth Century—W B Yeats and John Cornford.
Three poems by Hungarian poet Kinga Fabó, translated into English and in Hungarian.
As he wrote Musée des Beaux Arts
Auden danced with Isherwood. He asked about a young man
who had caught their attention long ago in Berlin.
Deconstruction
I’ll take your hyper-inflated
phallus, ego-distended balloon,
id-fueled hot-air engine…
Three poems | memory | gary lundy
These three poems play on memory, nostalgia, loss, and longing.
Two poems by Michael Rothenberg and Mitko Gogov, friends of Michael Dickel from 100TPC.
Because of the fear monster infecting this country, Joy Harjo has offered to share this poem, this song.
Three Fog Poems by Michael Dickel, David H. Rathbun, & Mike Stone. Enjoy the different views.
Time twists around after scientists think they’ve accelerated a particle faster than light (it was a loose wire…)
An old man remembers when time stood still as a bike tipped too far going around a corner and what it was like to fall out to space.
A surreal poem in a minor key, falling out of the world and into the arms of one who lives in dreams.
This fantastic figuration of f-words features consonance oh such consonance in an experimental play of sound(ing) mean(ing).