Here’s some poems read by the fellow in the upper right hand corner:



  1. J said,

    June 8, 2016 at 3:09 am

    Is it all right if I share too much, having just listened to your wonderful singing readings, thinking of your travels—to Romania? They’ve been through so much, yet they’re undivided in their steadfast love of song.

    I really wouldn’t trust myself to let in so much mystery without them:

    7 June 2016


    Paper Wasps: One Season

    The walls are concrete-grey and high as all imagination—not
    the real one, but the cast-out stranger’s far from ordinary thought
    brought forward from a time of troubled partial peace, to where time roiled
    all everyone within the mind they shared—the one that read the soiled

    torn pages found beside the gutter, nearly washed away. Their lines
    will celebrate the latent brilliant wick behind my eyes, designs
    shot all throughout that might have once arisen in an early morn—
    For this long moment, I’m so tired, I’d like to leave my soul lovelorn,

    but your imagined smile in guided love’s triumphant posture—Leak
    a little gentle light toward the one you hold, who’d never seek
    the likes of you, but still knows how to shine forth grace as if no soul
    had ever found another hiding place where god might eat you whole—

    then turn again upon your heel and show the world how well you dance.
    Beauty grows so luminous, I’d lie down, whetted by that lance;
    I’d feel it draw a subtle bead, then sharpen both its well-trained eyes—
    and tender as a subtle breath—I’d lie down dead if love would rise

    from out my grave with blossoms rich as gushing blood, well mixed with white
    wax candles’ flames as if their glow came over fresh as new Moon’s light,
    and all they cast their inverse shadows, walls as black as stone light hates—
    Use your silent, hurting heart to entertain the fallen slates

    that held a roof above your head when you lay sleepless, praying hard
    for one sweet angel out of many—How she saw you through, her starred
    companion in the basement room so grey—and then so black, so still—
    She’s a soothed and solid sense-companion where love works its will,

    and when she’s woken finally toward the glowing evening pass
    we both must understand before we enter—Love’s a stringent lass—
    we’ll feel the bond that holds the hands between us so securely, we—
    Used to be, we climbed the walls, right up and over; there’s a tree;

    there’s the concrete far below, and up above, the heaven’s high.
    Raise your fierce wet fist in mind against the fear that makes you cry:
    Tell the little feeling hearer hidden well within your breast—
    Paper wasps who build right now know theirs is next year’s empty nest.

    Thank you, Thomas, Scarriet, and happy Summer trails!

  2. thomasbrady said,

    June 10, 2016 at 4:50 am

    Thank you, J. Greetings everyone.

    I realize my coffee drinking habits have been barbaric. Ordering a “regular” coffee or “large” coffee in Europe, they give me a small something call Espresso, which I stare at in disbelief.

  3. thomasbrady said,

    June 10, 2016 at 4:53 am

    As an American, I’m used to tons of different languages spoken everywhere. In Turkey, Hungary, and Romania, I mostly hear English. I did meet a great Romanian poet, however, who spoke no English, and poured out his emotions to me in French. Ah, it lives! I thought. The great rivalry between Paris and London.

  4. thomasbrady said,

    June 10, 2016 at 5:10 am

    What I love about Arad so far, beside the beer gardens and crumbling facades with imposing tall windows and doors on narrow streets, is the quiet. The Boston area, by comparison, is a hell pit of noise: motorcycles, construction, sirens, bar music, loud pedestrians. Quiet is the secret, unspoken key to true urban civilization.To these ears, a surreal hush pervades. Maybe it’s an indication of a “bad economy” or a frightened and cowed population. I doubt it. I have no idea. But it’s beautiful.

    • noochinator said,

      June 10, 2016 at 9:42 am

      Thanks for the brief despatches, welcome to those of us who don’t pay attention to Twitter.

  5. Desdi said,

    June 11, 2016 at 2:04 am

    Just don’t look in Nicolae Ceaușescu’s basement, shti ?

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