Moon on the Caribbean As the moon sheds her countenance on the pleated skirts of El Caribe, rolling shoulders break older forces into white froth, rolling up on shores like the dead shells of Ozymandias, Bolivarian waves forming where foreign-flagged ships, once heavy with sugar, copper and gold left southern... » read this article

For many readers of classic literature, the authors who remain with them through the years are few and for some, can be counted on one hand. Over time, Loren Eiseley, the famous 20th century anthropologist, became such a person for me. His essay, The Slit introduces his book, The Immense Journey,... » read this article

The only poem worth writing The only poem worth writing is the one to be discovered after the death of the poet. The only poem worth writing is written on the obelisk and never in the life of the life, do you understand? The only poem worth writing is the... » read this article

  More poetry by Les Blough... » read this article

For the first sharp pangs there is no comfort; whatever goodness may surround us, darkness and silence still hang about our pain. But slowly, the clinging companionship with the dead is linked with our living affections and duties, and we begin to feel our sorrow as a solemn initiation, preparing... » read this article

Bill Your bones are long gone back to dust now. Maybe even the durable patches of your brown hair are now dissolved somewhere beneath the rocks and dirt on the old Woodstown farm. You pulled the shuttle cars under carbide lights flickering off damp walls, low tubes gouged out by... » read this article

Namaste is pronounced "Namastay" with the first two "a's" as the first "a" in America. and the "ay" as in "stay". The "t" is pronounced softly with the area just behind the tip of the tongue pressing against the upper-front teeth with no air passing between. (Jai Maharaj) In Sanskrit... » read this article

Say When Say when she asks the summer sun or olden oak its' heavy limbs, When trilling morning song is heard through cotton fog and linen air. Say to her fields of lavender, inchoate colour sketches spread and raining bathos in the vale or huddled leaden on a hill. Say... » read this article

- Ancient Taoist proverb Sojourn I've had it wrong, these many years in quarters dark, unframed nights, to ask in all sincerety, for you to take your leave in flights, from your responsibility. To brandish arms and bandaliers in this small place would be for nought, and spent in vain... » read this article

AKKADIAN  WINTER Dervish winds on winter streets, whip twisted steel hulks and blast through doors and windows. Beholding eyes, shocked and vacant. Emotion, freeze-dried, quits the killed and the killer. Only lamentations in medium of stone-dried blood. Like a morning fog in the valley, death hovers over mosque floors. Muezzin... » read this article

Quito A trace of sweetness lingers at the crossing of our ways. Poinciana, palm and Maga on the hill above Cayey. Pretty melodies that charmed me danced in your eyes that day; warmth of your smile that changed me, and then you went away. I many times remember. Your goodness... » read this article

Ajar You occupy a sweet room now, carefully constructed in a corner of my house - a door I sometimes open. You've moved from the living room where all the anguish could not turn into love and left me as a dying child. Now brief moments find me climbing the... » read this article

Winterwood Watch the new arrivals drift to rest    softly, around the hemlocks,   hiding tracks of the little ones    among the moon shadows The windchimes beckon the night,    The woodfire is in the stove,   Dusk gathers at the window    and peace settles round the cabin... » read this article

Snow No passage holds your faithful word, unspoken word, your constant word.      No portal for your comeliness, dissolving forms, your constant forms. You lie in field and trimmed in wood,      dress the boughs of evergreen,   glistening, clothe the day at noon,   shape blue moonlit crystal nights. Your... » read this article

ensembles grey Colors azure colors scarlet Wrap their arms around the years, Sitting long with colors brown. The meadowlands brood And soils patient and still, Breathe an easy rhythm. Frozen clumps of sod and stone, Plowed up in vast families, Join unbroken anonymity. An ancient sleep covers the farm ponds, And... » read this article

Interiors The hardwoods hold up a lowered sky. Migrating wings lift away from the advancing tides of cold. It is a winter like none before. Fronds of ferns that spread their lace, tall and green above the forest floors, now lie brown, waiting their blanket. It is the winter of... » read this article

Healing  I did not know their words or meaning when poets spoke of winds and trees. I heard their lines of brooks and flowers and read their thoughts of clouds and seas. But never could I plumb the wisdom, never sense that gentle touch, until my soul was wholly broken,... » read this article

Return A summer in the morning sun Like lace upon my skin, Sweeping o'er my rocking chair and let your light come in. And when the yellow, gold and brown left me faint upon the floor, I caught my breath just long enough to see you passing through the door.... » read this article

Pilltown Noisily lifting off the water at dawn, fading wings in fog; Stillness of an Appalachian moon... Breezes sleep. Quiet folds legs and lies down. More poetry by Les Blough © Copyright 2008 by AxisofLogic.com This material is available for republication as long as reprints include verbatim copy of the article its entirety,... » read this article

Little Hand That little hand, that busy hand that played in sand and tossed a stone That slept beside your weary head that grasped your father's hand so tight as you walked through the loud bazaar. Oh little hand, oh busy hand! do not be curious of that toy that... » read this article