Archives for posts with tag: van Gogh

by Paula J. Lambert

I imagine myself covered
in the rich, loose soil
of springtime. Loam-y.
An earth-bath. It’s morning,
and the soil is cool. I watch
the sky and wait to bloom,

I see myself rising
in the summer sun, bold.
Thirsty. Sun-dried soil
falling from my shoulders,
feet planted, toes searching
for water as my pores open
to what comes.

In autumn, ripe and ready,
swelling with goodness,
I’m gathered by good people,
hungry and offering thanks.
I nourish them, my bones then
scattered, back to the field.

This, too, is good: winter,
these bones held close
by the frozen mud. I see
myself resting, waiting
for want to return.

IMAGE: “Irises” by Vincent van Gogh (1889).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Paula J. Lambert is the author of The Sudden Seduction of Gravity (Full/Crescent Press, 2012) and The Guilt That Gathers (Pudding House, 2009). A residency artist for the Ohio Arts Council Arts Learning Program, she has published her work in numerous journals and anthologies. She is a past recipient of an OAC Individual Artist Fellowship and was a resident fellow at the Virginia Center for Creative Arts. Her MFA is from Bowling Green State University. Lambert currently resides in Dublin, Ohio, with her husband Michael Perkins, with whom she operates Full/Crescent Press, a small but growing independent publisher of poetry books and broadsides.

Putting together the pieces of myself
by Suvojit Banerjee

A little boy
wistfully star-gazing on a night, and seeking
warmth from the farthest corners of the
universe; the hapless man
standing amidst the heat-haze
of a city crowded with faces
unknown, and talking
to a cat,
thinking it will lead him to love.
A shy, timid creature
who’s Dorian Gray at self-love,
yet knee-weak for that toddler
and its toothless smile.
A romantic who dwells
on the hypocrisies of seeking infinity
in finite, flesh-and-blood
Little pieces of stardust
fall from the sky
while stars tinkle, and they become
Tiny droplets of love
trickle down through the mountains
and manifest unto
One by one
faces come, faces fade
bucketful of memories,
images in a million mirrors;
They become

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My creative process is mainly based upon observations and then me trying to put those random, haphazard things into orderly lines of words and meaningful sentences. Living in a cosmopolitan city has certain benefits, as through my daily activity to work and back, I can observe many individuals busy in their own chores. My work, from time to time, also gets influenced by other writers and their amazing works.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Suvojit Banerjee‘s work reflects searching-for-answers moments and changes that he sees his city go through every single day. His work has been published in a several online magazines. He currently works in a software company, but writes his heart out every chance that he gets. He lives in India.

IMAGE: “Starry Night” by Alex Ruiz. Prints available at Visit the artist at

by János Pilinszky

A battle lost in the cornfields
and in the sky a victory.
Birds, the sun and birds again.
By night, what will be left of me?

By night, only a row of lamps,
a wall of yellow clay that shines,
and down the garden, through the trees,
like candles in a row, the panes;

there I dwelt once and dwell no longer—
I can’t live where I once lived, though
the roof there used to cover me.
Lord, you covered me long ago.

SOURCE: Poetry (March 2008)

IMAGE: “Self-Portrait in a Straw Hat” by Vincent van Gogh (1887).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: János Pilinszky (1921-1981) served with the Hungarian army in WWII. Harmadnapon (On the Third Day, 1959) established him as a courageous witness to the horrors of mid-twentieth century Europe. Two selections of his work have appeared in English: Selected Poems, translated by Ted Hughes and János Csokits (Carcanet, 1976)—later expanded into The Desert of Love (Anvil, 1989)— and Crater, translated by Peter Jay (Anvil, 1978).

celebrate half
by dirk velvet

at half
is life
that came

at half
is life
to come?

to wait full year
to celebrate
is merely half wisdom

IMAGE: “Langlois Bridge at Arles” by Vincent van Gogh (1888).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: dirk velvet is a poet/writer of songs from Muskego, Wisconsin. His writing has been featured in Beggars and Cheeseburgers, Pearl, Re)verb, Nerve Cowboy, and Milwaukee Renaissance.

by Deborah DuBois

friends I’ve just met
or known a lifetime
or two, maybe a day
sad, confused, longing
for what, no idea
maybe no jazzy blue
I reach out to clinch
the emptiness
and hear the echo
fading back
they’re falling fast
blinded by the past
but I see it, I do
here, take this hand
it’s not strong
but sincere
I won’t let you slip
urgently unflagging
a steady please
they wave instead
smile it away
joyride on pride
in a headlong slide
clamber and climb
scraping the sky
they can do it
they and their shadow
just gloom in the dusk
waveless and still
me and my hope
may be unwanted
not unneeded
will still be here
in spite of
the inevitable

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Deborah DuBois is a writer from Washington who lives outside Seattle in the most glorious green mountains ever created. She has published one novel — Your Time Is Over — and has the prequel and the sequel in production, where she’s used her poetry as chapter prefaces. She has strong beliefs in God, and most of her poetry reflects this. On her blog, she’s published poetry and stories, where most are a reflection of her life and experiences. The blog also showcases the stained glass that she creates in the true antique fashion.

PAINTING: “The Starry Night” by Vincent van Gogh (1889)

by Amy Gerstler

Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies
and trip over the roots
of a sweet gum tree,
in search of medieval
plants whose leaves,
when they drop off
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they
plop into water.

Suddenly the archetypal
human desire for peace
with every other species
wells up in you. The lion   
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.

SOURCE: “In Perpetual Spring” appears in Amy Gerstler’s collection Bitter Angel (North Point Press, 1990).

IMAGE: “Garden in Bloom” by Vincent van Gogh (1888)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Amy Gerstler won the 1991 National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry for Bitter Angel (1990). Her early work includes White Marriage/Recovery (1984), and her more recent works include Nerve Storm (1993), Medicine (2000), Ghost Girl (2004), and Dearest Creature (2009), which the New York Times named a Notable Book of the Year. A graduate of Pitzer College and Bennington College, Gerstler has taught at the Art Center College of Design, the University of Southern California, and the Bennington Writing Seminars program. She lives in California with her husband, the artist and author Benjamin Weissman.

by Carl Sandburg

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

PAINTING: “Wheat Field with Reaper and Sun” by Vincent van Gogh (1889).


“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.” KAHLIL GIBRAN

Painting: “Branches of an Almond Tree in Blossom” by Vincent van Gogh (1890)