Hello, and here is an update for the Sombre Chapbook. In case you missed the beginning – here are the details. And now, the news: all poems have been selected and arranged, roughly edited, awating final moderation,
but the main piece of news is that
I HAVE THE COVER ART FOR THE BOOK READY. And here it is:
Copyright © 2011 Emil Penchev
How about that 😉 The artist is currently working on the contents. So, hopefully, it will be out soon.
In a beautiful day, here is something to match the mood. Remember the Lake Poets?
by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills.
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a boy:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Here is a poem about Food, as prompted by the Sunday Scribblings
In fact, it is a piece I have already contributed before, as part of the November PAD Challenge I did last November, yet I consider it suitable. Besides, pasta is forever my favourite food, albeit so … bad for … you know… everything. 🙂
Well, enjoy the serving:
They say, “Pasta’s bad for your health”
I say, “Pasta’s great for my mood”
They go, “Pasta ruins your diet”
“But then I am nice and quiet”
Eating T-bones and steaks is barbarity,
Civilised pasta and bread is calamity.
So, is health what we crave, or felicity?
Is truth more important than integrity?
a “stacking” poem
The warehouse of your anxiety
Should be torn down
And the stacked piles of your worries
Be scattered around
To make ground,
To make way,
To make sure
That you’re awake.