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Echo

The echo is silence:

in the landscape with tree
in the center of the hill
in the empty plate
in the full pocket

full of emptiness.

poem by Liliana Mainardi from Surco abierto (Open Furrow) (November 2015), translated by Dan Costinaş
Added by Dan Costinaş
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* * *

The word clings
to the pen tip
freeing itself for a moment
of its shadow.

poem by Liliana Mainardi from Surco abierto (Open Furrow) (November 2015), translated by Dan Costinaş
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Thirst

I barely understood
thirst
after drinking.

poem by Liliana Mainardi from Surco abierto (Open Furrow) (November 2015), translated by Dan Costinaş
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Let us dig our furrow in the fields of the commonplace.

quote by Jean Henri Fabre
Added by Lucian Velea
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The glacier was God's great plough set at work ages ago to grind, furrow, and knead over, as it were, the surface of the earth.

quote by Louis Agassiz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rockville Road

soft sweep
of gentle hills
fallow fields
famished
for black seed
worked earth
glistening
in late rain
listening
to songs of
spring
as every
narrow
furrow
waits

poem by Steven Federle
Added by Poetry Lover
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Blowing From The East

Can you tie the wild ox in the furrow with ropes? ! !
Then think twice before throwing stones in a glass house;
Because the sound of the trumpet is blowing from the east,
And you have to be prepared for war!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
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To The Husbandman

SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover'd;

Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last.
Joyously plough'd and sow'd! Here food all living is budding,

E'en from the side of the tomb Hope will not vanish away.

poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Wasted Love

What shall be done for sorrow
With love whose race is run?
Where help is none to borrow,
What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun
The web, or drawn the furrow:
No rest their toil hath won.

His task is all gone thorough,
And fruit thereof is none:
And who dare say to-morrow
What shall be done?

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Added by Poetry Lover
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Love

My love for you is like the blackest pitch
that runs in a narrow furrow down a wall,
pools on the floor in a heart-shaped scrawl
or then again, like albumen-

white, pearlescent, watery-thick,
aglow in the fried-and-eaten dark
half-part scratch and half-part itch
my love for you is like the blackest pitch.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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