Is Poetry, My First Love, Dead?

If poetry isn’t dead, it’s scarcely breathing. Does anyone read it anymore? Why would they? by David Stone Robert Frost was a household name when I grew up with dreams of writing poetry. So was Carl Sandburg. In our house,…

An Afternoon of Spoken Words, March 3rd Poetry Event at RIVAA

A note from organizer, Roosevelt Islander, Adela Sinclair: Dear Friends, You are cordially invited to a captivating poetry reading event, presented by Adela Sinclair of Bucharest Inside the Beltway, celebrating its 10-year anniversary, in collaboration with and hosted by RIVAA…

Narrative Poetry, Storytelling in Verse, Today

If you’re a book lover, you’ve probably encountered narrative poetry at some point. Maybe you read The Waste Land in high school and were perplexed by its structure. Or maybe you discovered Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken and loved…

Crazy Suzanne – Poetry

Summer day, late afternoon, Crazy Suzanne appears at my door. “Are my tits getting bigger?” she wonders, raising her shirt up to her shoulders. Never having made their acquaintance before, I was at a loss but I looked anyway. Another…

We Are Still in Your Car – Poetry

by David Stone We are still in the car, pushing through heavy, drifted snow. We will always be in that car. It will always be snowing, and we’ll be on our way home. You were telling me something. But mostly…

Saturday, May 7th at 3:00, A Poetry Reading at Gallery RIVAA

You are invited to a poetry reading with Roosevelt Islander Adela Sinclair. She and Rowyda Amin will be reading from their books. Rowyda will bring books and you may pre-order Adela’s book, La Revedere, at Finishing Line Press, at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/la-revedere-by-adela-sinclair/…

Spiritual Irony Free Verse

Thinking Up You, a Universe In Mind

I create and recreate you.

When George died…

When George died is a short poem about a cat who changed my life… When George died,every cat in the universesstopped purring for precisely one second.The change in vibrations never reversed. More from a morning’s inspiration… When George died is…

When my brother died…

When my bother died, a poem… When my brother died, the warmth of the universe diminished perceptibly at every official measuring station and did not recover. Saturday morning shower of ideas… It started with my father. On a Saturday morning,…