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all we are is dust in the wind...

13 poezii, 0 proze

adrian jigăranu

25 iunie 1985 Are you a child of the free to be you and me generation And are you in tune with the world around you I am a child of the free to be you and me generation And I am with you in being in tune We shall bring change to this place Listen to the whistle of the planet twirlin through space Singin la la la la la la to the human race (she says) I believe I am the flower of life, the earth And the ocean oh oh I believe I feel the power of light, vibrate All around me oh oh I believe you are the children of the one great spirit, oh oh Are you a child of the free to be you and me generation And are you confused with the world around you I am a child of the free to be you and me generation And I am with you in being confused Children children can you hear it Listen to the riddle in the melody by great spirit Singin la la la la la la theres nothin to it (he says) I believe I am the flower of life, the air And the sunshine oh oh I believe I am the power of light, the motive For the...

117 poezii, 0 proze

Ioana Veronica Epure

Născută pe 22 iunie 1988, am terminat liceul Traian din Constanța, profil mate-fizică. Studentă la Facultatea de Comunicare și Relații Publice "David Ogilvy" din cadrul SNSPA. Texte publicate în Informația Cernavodei (ziar local cernavodean), Adolescentul (suplimentul cotidianului Cuget Liber), revistele literare Agora și Tomis. Premiul "Tinere Condeie" 2004, 2005. Participare la festivalul Primăvara poeților, 2006. Membră a cenaclurilor literare Săgetătorul și Atlantis. Membră agonia.ro din iulie 2004. "I take a bottle of wine and I go drink it among the flowers. We are allways three ... counting my shadow and my friend, the shimmering moon. Happily, the moon knows nothing of drinking, and my shadow is never thirsty. When I sing, the moon listens to me in silence. When I dance, my shadow dances too. After all festivities the guests must depart. This sadness I do not know. When I go home, the moon goes with me and my shadow follows me." (Vangelis, "The Little Fete")

31 poezii, 0 proze

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Oriah Mountain Dreamer is the author of the inspirational prose-poem and international best-selling books, The Invitation (now translated into over fifteen languages), The Dance and The Call: Discovering Why You Are Here . Her writing explores how to follow the thread of our deepest heart\'s longing into a life of meaning and purpose. Her latest book, What We Ache For: Creativity and the Unfolding of Your Soul, (Harper San Francisco, April 2005) offers reflections on and practical guidelines for finding and cultivating creative work that is not separated from your spirituality, your direct experience of that which is both what you are and larger than yourself, or your sexuality, the fire and sensuality of life lived in the physical world. Oriah has shared her insights and stories with audiences throughout the world at conferences and retreats and through radio and TV appearances (CBC, TVO, Oprah, NPR, PBS, Wisdom Network.) Blending ruthless honesty, humour, insight and compassion for...

0 poezii, 0 proze

Radu Contes

The beginning of my childhood was profoundly marked by one of my grandfather’s passions – literature. For him reading, living, the writings of so many did not seem to be enough, so he began writing his own stories that still echo in my memory and in my heart. I remember that one day I went to him and asked “What are you writing about?”. Looking at me for only a second and returning his eyes at the ink stained notebook he answered: “My life”. Regretful, I confess that that was the last dialogue we had. After that I began reading, reading everything he was writing. Two years after his death, I had met someone who changed everything. I stopped reading and began writing myself. It was such a new feeling. It seemed to be never ending. It still feels. Since the first time, you may think I am exaggerating, but it really was the first time I saw her when I felt this sudden urge of writing. Words like “Thank you” seem meaningless compared to the things that you have done for me.

2 poezii, 0 proze

Fred Moramarco

Dr. Moramarco is a Professor of English at San Diego State and the Editor of Poetry International, an annual journal of new poetry published there. He is the co-author of Containing Multitudes: Poetry in the United States Since 1950 and Modern American Poetry, and co-editor of Men of Our Time: Male Poetry in Contemporary America. ,,I\'ve devoted a lot of my life to poetry. Reading it, writing it, writing about it. In her wonderful novel, \"Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant,\" Anne Tyler writes, \"There ought to be a whole separate language for truth.\" I think there is such a language--the language of poetry. Poems create the miracle of connecting our inner lives. We live in a world where the language of advertising, commerce, and politics are so filled with falseness, deception, and manipulation, that we have an absolute longing to hear words spoken from the heart, with clarity, precision, and authenticity.``

2 poezii, 0 proze

Robert Sheckley

Robert Sheckley, born in 1928, grew up in New Jersey and served in Korea before selling his first story in 1951. A master of satire and irony whose work has been called \"galactic humor,\" Sheckley was one of the first to portray gadgets that think for humans, such as intelligent refrigerators. Among his classic stories are \"Shape\", \"Specialist\", \"Seventh Victim\", and \"Warm\" (all 1953), \"The Prize of Peril\" (1958), \"The Store of the Worlds\" (1959), \"The People Trap\" (1968), and \"Can You Feel Anything When I Do This?\" (1969); \"Shall We Have a Little Talk?\" (1965) and \"What Is Life?\" (1976) were Nebula and World Fantasy award nominees respectively. Early story collections Untouched by Human Hands (1954), Citizen in Space (1955), and Pilgrimage to Earth (1957) were followed by others in the \'60s and \'70s, with retrospective The Collected Short Fiction of Robert Sheckley published in 5 volumes in 1991. Sheckley\'s first novel Immortality Inc. (1959) was an expanded...

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Bucseneanu Radu

We are how we choose to be! ..nimic nu e concret si totu-i relativ !¿!

6 poezii, 0 proze

Hal Sirowitz

Pretending We went to Dan Lynch's, & listened to White musicians pretending that they were Black. And the people next to us jumped up & down, pretending that they were rock stars. And I put my hand on your knee, pretending that I was your lover. You remained aloof. Why did you have to be the only one who insisted on being yourself?

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The Matrix

de Andrei Dumitrescu

Classes, hours streets... The VETO right over sunrise, heads of concrete... As water takes the shape of the vase, So does man take the elaborate shape of the maze in its underscored power. Witness to...

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Decoding your destiny

de Carmen Harra

We are all curious about our future, but what we don\'t realize is that we are born with the ability to see into our future. A particular numerological chart is unique to each person and reveals a...

ProzăClasic

The Self-Seeker

de Robert Frost

Willis, I didn\'t want you here to-day: The lawyer\'s coming for the company. I\'m going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet. Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know.\" \"With you the feet have...

The Star-Splitter

de Robert Frost

`You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his hands, he looks in on me Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something I should have done by...

Interview with Enrique Iglesias

de A.M. Rika

Enrique Iglesias reaches for the stars with his feet on the ground Enrique Iglesias is the boy next door, someone who grew up doing things quietly, but effectively. Dreaming of becoming a pop star...

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Gerontion

de T.S. Eliot

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both. HERE I am, an old man in a dry month, Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain. I was neither at the hot gates Nor...

Selected strophes from Les Chants de Maldoror Translated by Dan Clore

de Comte de Lautreamont

Canto I: 6 You should let your fingernails grow for fifteen days. Oh! -- How sweet it is to brutally tear a youth with a hairless upper lip from his bed and, eyes wide open, pretend that you\'ll...