poems by Craig Kirchner
Succubus, Muse I have not written, as one banished, amnestied by the promise of a
e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
Succubus, Muse I have not written, as one banished, amnestied by the promise of a
Infinity I just crossed the Piraeus Port Gate 8; Sideways the symbol of infinity. And I’m heading to the Island
Last Poem Today, while polishing off a Polish doughnut, I decided to write my last poem, kind of like last will and testament which I’ve perversely
The dilemma of artist’s dress Painters, like Antonio Tapies, appear to be bank clerks, but as I observe other painters, they wear the same clothes.
I Feel Lightning in Your Wind I feel light in a thunderstorm. I electrify your touch through my veins. I’m the greenery around your life
*** the blind dream will end this time with an endless night
Germany in the nighttime 1961 – the wall has been built once sixty-one stars glowed over the native land the East Germany rife with butterflies sparkled in the night
Refugees Some people can’t stay where they are. As determined by no home, empty pockets
by Catalina Florina Florescu Mirabela was holding a baby blue cloth. Her hands were trembling. “Do you need a cup of tea?” Mirabela did not pay attention. She was examining the cloth with fascination but also terror. “Holes … holes in the design.”
by Ana Bazac The 18th century was not only that of Enlightenment. There were even ideas which opposed[1] to the message of progress through cultural development of the many – although “the many” were, at least for the German intellectuals, only townsmen, and rather propertied. But just because of the coexistence of adverse ideologies, we […]