art photo sent by Pasithea Chan for writing prompt
Untitled by Mo Schoenfeld
memory, dry, cracked. silent shivering, slick streets, puddles like mirage. Twitter @MoSchoenfeld A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Mo Schoenfeld Promenade by James Penha The rain drizzles like paint on a canvas but I am safe under cover of night when lamplit colors melt this great city I own on my way. Expat New Yorker James Penha (he/himđ) has lived for the past three decades in Indonesia. Nominated for Pushcart Prizes in fiction and poetry, his work is widely published in journals and anthologies. His newest chapbook of poems, American Daguerreotypes, is available for Kindle. His essays have appeared in The New York Daily News and The New York Times. Penha edits The New Verse News, an online journal of current-events poetry. Twitter: @JamesPenha Light by Ivor Daniel (And then the lighting of the lamps. T S Eliot - Prelude). We shall overcome. (Pete Seeger et al) And then the lighting of the lamps And then the lighting of the And then the lighting And then the And then And We We shall We shall overcome We shall overcome, some We shall overcome, some day WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY #SLAVA UKRAINI A Poetry Showcase for Ivor Daniel *Updated 9/23/22* with Plath haiku A Painter's Umbrella by Pasithea Chan I set my canvas in swirly wrinkles hoping my brush makes ripples in my lover's heart for all onlookers etching my pain in colorful grain to relieve longing's strain & stay sane. I'm neither a cane for her to lean on nor a window pane to entertain an agonized soul sedating his pain. I am an umbrella held for shelter from weather. Never a stage for soulful blues under red hues. To me you are both the same: hiding your agony in a canvas colorfully as she hides under me indifferently. All I have is a love story that's now a memory captured in a silhouette of her figure. Blue is all the affection left behind love's rapture. I am a picture hanging on by a fixture trying to mend my heart's fracture. Like rain's pitter patter hearts often scatter taking apart lives that were once together. Take it from me, there's no warmth in being of use. Sometimes the end can be your muse even when your hues become forgotten clues. Pain is my eye and hope my sky Blue is my welcome made to qualm A broken heart looking for a fresh start Raindrops my fingertips turning colorful drips into benches to sit through a goodbye. Author's Notes: The piece is inspired by Alexander Bolotov's painting of a girl walking holding an umbrella under the rain fading into the blue evening sky and red street lamps. The poem is an imaginary conversation between a painter and an umbrella he painted.
Fevers of the Mind 