Your poetry begets music, but only to the poor. The poor hear each note of hunger upon their wanderings; whether city, or fields, or highways off the desert roads, the poor shall always hear these tattered tunes laying threadbare, frayed at the heel of existence. Your Russian journeys lead you to God, unbeknownst, an intimate…
Reading Rita Dove’s Boccaccio: The Plague Years
Each day, each night, upon the southern island that reaches out to the Gulf of Mexico, the clapboard beach houses raise their tunes of flying fish, slapping hard upon the water’s edge. I was two, perhaps, younger. My memory slips into a time of a golden astonishment, white sand that stings as a round, translucent…
Reading Rita Dove at Sunrise
Pacing, as a hummingbird spins her wings and tiny frame, not frantic, but gracefully as Paavo Oso and his art, staring impassive to his muse, what shall ruminating speak this time? Seven A.M. The canvas still clean. Once upon a time… he felt the lascivious rage within his rags, threads reaching to the sky…
Reading Rita Dove at Midnight
Life, never what it appears to be unless one is a poet. I think of you, as I dig deeply into your metaphors, and the communities of the marginalized, the early morning freeze, deadens my fingertips upon this black, icy laptop, frozen as if dead. Your words, alive with the perfume of truth. I learn…
Spinal Con-fusion
Spinal Con-fusion: A Combat Therapy By John Gregory Evans © 5/12/2020 8:25:38 AM There remains a deadened, freezing, almost an anesthetizing sense of dread upon my fingertips and hands, reaching deep into my leg’s nerves, shattered spinal cord, peeled away as one peels an orange. Walking, now a challenge, con-fusion of the fusion, cervical cord,…
Powerpoint Presentation
John Gregory Evans .ppthttps://1drv.ms/p/s!AgUL8sQnXq3LgzMh45sdx8dN4X_3?e=EVbIBG
This Pale Moon
The pale moon can be invasive at times, lighting up my tiny room, to almost a dim freshness of sunshine echoing through. I think, of love who has passed me by, except the silver love and this lunar sky. We share so many nights, why not, and evenings, too, we are together, espoused we two.…
A Foreign Affair
Loneliness has a colorful appeal, Let us call it red, parted maws, lonely from a journey to freedom instead, A relinquished mass of peoples juxtaposed, liberty sows not upon this troubled land, a promise not to the populace cram. I simply hope for the people’s choice Not as from Tiananmen Square, The lovers of none,…
Liebster Award
Thank you Ingrid, at https://experimentsinfiction.com/ for my nomination. If you have not visited Ingrid’s blog yet, I suggest you check it out. Always makes me happy to read her fiction and helps me feel a bit less stressed when I become overloaded with my Creative Writing and English program. Ingrid, quite the educated lady speaking 4…
Systemic Racism: I Cannot See You for You are my Brother
Systemic Racism: I Cannot See You for You Are my Brother by John Gregory Evans © 5/1/2020 4:26:48 PM Structural Racism: historically & culturally; white privilege is where - to be of color is a disadvantage, well, I cannot accept the privileges from one to the other. Racism is not my brother. A racial equity…
Gateway
Author / Poet - John G Evans We shall all come to know a ‘dark night’ of our souls. The path to esoterica illumination originates by the divine will of God as well as cooperation of the soul. Is there an Omega Point of God and human soul we may call thin places, and is…
John G Evans & Paavo Oso Arts 