Painting Biagio Fortini, Italy Genesis Every poem begins in the morning, with the sun. Even if the poem is not visible (that means rainy sky) the poem is

Photo Germain Droogenbroodt   12 February 1983 His age, a lot of wrinkles. He wasn’t always like that; he used to drink red wine; once he felt guilty,

Picture by Germain Droogenbroodt   Tale of a Faithful Wife When you winged to a distant land of blue mountains, I didn’t weep badly as faithful wives do,

With our best Wishes for the New Year Heaven’s Gate, Varenna, Como Lake, by Walfrido   A New Year Without War At the rim of the widening gyre

Painting by Pablo Picasso PEACE DOVE a poem for Christmas Behind the gentle ripples of the sea the dawning day paints on the canvas of the horizon the

Painting by Biagio Fortini, Italy I talk ceaselessly I talk ceaselessly about the subtle difference between women and trees, about the magic of the earth, about a country

Painting by Jinta Hirayama, Japan   WE WERE ALL BLOWN AWAY   We were all blown away Blown to the right Blown to the left Blown this way

  Egon Schiele, Austria   Poetry without borders 816 3 “On the Brink” Stanley H. Barkan, USA from “The Faces of Time – Les visages du temps” Editor

Drawing by Christoph Janacs Sirens 2 The song of sirens, awakening me from a dream on Saturday afternoon. The howl of low-flying aircraft, while mother runs pushing the

Mr. Prime Minister When Will the Nightmare End? Mr. Prime Minister, when will The Gaza nightmare end? What absolute misery – I loathe destroying people ’s homes, I