poetry

poetry

How far away the stars seem, and how farIs our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!

How far away the stars seem, and how farIs our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bedAnd sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bedAnd sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Once in a while i am struckall over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

Once in a while i am struckall over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

At the edge of madness you howl diamonds and pearls.

At the edge of madness you howl diamonds and pearls.

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

More or Less Love Poems #11:No babeWe'd neverSwing together butthe syncopationwould be something wild

More or Less Love Poems #11:No babeWe'd neverSwing together butthe syncopationwould be something wild

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Freud thought that a psychosis was a waking dream, and that poets were daydreamers too, but I wonder if the reverse is not as often true, and that madness is a fiction lived in like a rented house

Freud thought that a psychosis was a waking dream, and that poets were daydreamers too, but I wonder if the reverse is not as often true, and that madness is a fiction lived in like a rented house

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Always our wars have been our confessions of weakness

Always our wars have been our confessions of weakness

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Poetry is an intimate act. It's about bringing forth something that's inside you--whether it is a memory, a philosophical idea, a deep love for another person or for the world, or an apprehension of the spiritual. It's about making something, in language, which can be transmitted to others--not as information, or polemic, but as irreducible art.

Poetry is an intimate act. It's about bringing forth something that's inside you--whether it is a memory, a philosophical idea, a deep love for another person or for the world, or an apprehension of the spiritual. It's about making something, in language, which can be transmitted to others--not as information, or polemic, but as irreducible art.

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

The poet knows that he speaks adequately, then, only when he speaks somewhat wildly.

The poet knows that he speaks adequately, then, only when he speaks somewhat wildly.

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A frail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The rest was death, and death alone

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A frail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The rest was death, and death alone

Nov 24, 2024 - Fabian Biese>

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