Poem Today: I am New York City
i am new york city here is my brain of hot sauce my tobacco teeth my mattress of bedbug tongue legs apart hand on chin war on the roof insults
i am new york city here is my brain of hot sauce my tobacco teeth my mattress of bedbug tongue legs apart hand on chin war on the roof insults
Good and evil are only high and low on one string of god’s violin. There are other strings being played stretching from our guts to the end of the world.
By Stuart Watson: This poem was inspired by the image of joyous citizens of Damascus carrying the severed sculptural head… … Continue readingSunday Poem: Big Head
Poets and mystics had come to realize that Eternity exists outside the constraints of time and matter. It wasn’t some infinite future paradise. … Continue readingThe Eternal NOW
Dutch painter Piet Mondrian’s life story isn’t widely known and few of us would be able to identify him from a photograph. … Continue readingMondrian: His Life, His Art, His Quest for the Absolute
Two exhibitions reveal how, for the great Renaissance artists, drawing was both a tool for making paintings and a form of self-expression … Continue readingThe Renaissance In Drawing
by Phillis Wheatley Peters: For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on th’ ethereal plain. … Continue readingPoem of the Day: To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works
There in the park where I played as a kid I saw them painting the brown grass green. Just us early risers and the unfolding of… … Continue readingTuesday Poem: Journey to the End of the Mind
Irshad Salim: 16 years ago (circa 2008) I flew from NJ to KHI on Etihad –after a hiatus of almost 6 yrs. The feeling was kinda homecoming. … Continue readingHappy Thanksgiving Home & Abroad
Maria Callas is the latest star to be given the Hollywood treatment in a biopic, Pablo Larraín’s Maria, with Angelina Jolie in the title role. … Continue readingMaria Callas: The Diva’s Tragedy
For Hasna Henna and the Rohingya: My aunt once drew a comb through my hair steady; she wouldn’t let what feeds on blood eat my inner tree. … Continue readingInfinity Ghazal Beginning With Lice and Never Ending With Lies
Forever I miss my Arab father’s way with mint leaves floating in a cup of sugared tea—his delicate hands arranging rinsed figs on a plate. … Continue readingPoem of the Day: You Are Your Own State Department