A poem, Kiddush on the Solstice, and digital landscapes, HaEtz HaChaim 1–7, from Michael Dickel on Meta/ Phor(e) /Play.
Six haiku ranging from current events to nature to mystery, from Brazilian poet and translator Thaís Fernandes.
A HamiltonSeen film by Cody Lanktree of Michael Dickel reading his poem, “But Hear the Dissonance, 1948-2012.”
Three poems from Karen Alkalay-Gut: What I need, I am a connoisseur of insomnia, and Avishag Speaks.
Michael Dickel’s poem, ”epistemological metaphysics of rhetorical hallucinations,” explores a mind.
A flight of fancy—escape through language, desire, politics—an end game—a poem by Michael Dickel.
These 3 poems by gary lundy dance to music & drink coffee—reading your meaning, meaning your reading.
A wall waiting for graffiti, a lost love in Paris, psychedelic apple blossoms| hired sycophants | poems | J Matthew Waters
Jamie Dedes offers two spring poems of roses and love | Meta-Phor(e) /Play
Storm-driven sea and terror-driven police—combine images for our time. | Poem by Michael Dickel
A hybrid essay-fiction flash set in a mystical garden that doesn’t exist in Jerusalem Recalled but possibly in Jerusalem Imagined.
Three poems | memory | gary lundy
These three poems play on memory, nostalgia, loss, and longing.
Three Fog Poems by Michael Dickel, David H. Rathbun, & Mike Stone. Enjoy the different views.
This hybrid between non-fiction, found poetry, & experimental-performance poetry connects hunger-stress-climate change and war. It hints at a desire for peace, & harmony.
Three poems set on a farm about faith in the seen and unseen and what may be coming from acts of love. Appears also in The BeZine.
This originally appeared in Fragments of Michael Dickel Sept. 2014. Thank you to G. Jamie Dedes and The BeZine for giving it a new, broader audience almost two years later! Author’s note: Sometimes, our children tell us things that they see or know, and we don’t have faith in […]
A short imagistic poem about respite from death’s pursuit through briefly glimpsed revelation.
This poem struggles in the middle of the night, wrestling with my 61st birthday and sense of failure. The poem begins:
“You want to sleep—but across the tundra,
or perhaps desert hard scrabble. The time
change lags behind and no one wants to
fund you, not even you.”