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poem: lyric kin
week four of my coursera poetry course was to write a lipogram; that is, a poem that uses only one vowel. it’s a playful way of rhyming. “lyric kin” bliss in mists gives this whim its invisible linchpin flim in vice – i might live within my wish filling dish’s brim. slinging living sinking, hide,…
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old friends and the wild atlantic way
this weekend, i have been enjoying a few days in ireland’s west with an old friend over visiting from boston. in addition to trying (perhaps unsuccessfully) to recreate the types of travel adventures i got into on my very first forays abroad to ireland in my early twenties, we did get down to the business…
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poem from the emperor far away
Our journey’s end, Shimiankuang appeared as a vision of hell amid a starkly beautiful mountain wilderness. On the border between Xinjiang and Qinghai. Shimiankuang means ‘asbestos mine’ and that is what it is. The prompt for this was to write a poem from someone else’s prose. This passage comes from The Emperor Far Away by David…
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a year of poetry
at the end of last year, i decided to make 2016 my ‘year of poetry’. not quite sure what that meant, really, i just knew i wanted to spend more time reading, thinking about and writing poetry. i don’t consider myself to be a poet. but i do, and have, written poetry, since i was…
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the nomad soul
the nomad soul craves a dust lining for nostrils. dust from a petrol station along some highway in the earth’s heart that nobody ever saw. the nomad soul seeks fellow nomads linguistic anomolies those who know dipthongs from alveolar stops those who find the forgotten corners of byzantine churches. the nomad soul loves deeply yet…
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found in translation
my favourite film of all time is lost in translation, sofia coppola’s alternative rock-infused slow burn starring bill murray, scarlett johannson and the neon streets of tokyo. lost in translation released in august 2003, a pivotal summer of my life for many reasons, and i guess it soaked in pretty deeply, as i must’ve seen it…
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driving side roads in northern new mexico
Cottonwoods rim the two-lane, an alameda out of Española, a forearm extended into the High Road villages. Seven miles on, the hand opens to Chimayó, one palmful of adobe farm homes and a sacred site. “Martinez,” reads the mailbox on a garden wall. Packed-earth, the painted wall beams blue. The Oritz house naps behind a…
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notes from a (roughly) repatriated laowai
it’s been five years, nearly to the month, since i bid china goodbye. it was a rough parting – one i don’t often talk about. after spending the greater part of my adult life learning chinese, travelling in china, teaching in china, making chinese friends, returning to china and generally showing an interest, this place…
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Megan Eaves-Egenes 