Some Flowers - W.B. Keckler

[anja bojku]

since I love praise, and you called me "i mall", anja I owe you one.

pith on palm

can it be?
vulgarity?
no hang on. it's in english. and the sound is so soft and dewey (or is it spellt dewy). sweet and flowing. am i still saturated, over indulged in the albanian of it all? i don't know. whoever is keckler, don't sound like albanian to me, though he knows aphrodites. and by that don't mean that all muses belong to albanian, but that the allegory of the language, to rob henri for nothing, climaxes into a weeping orgasm of belief in the vagina of a flower. i'm not tired by this kind of poetry. it relaxes me. I'd say is the best poetry I read in english since the gambling muses of bukowsky.

there buzzes a certain insecurity about beliefs in keckler, at least with the two poetry that are here. he seems to play with it trying to impose a certain reality in the reader. "we believe, because it weeps open". and just as a verse might be, at least on a poetry about the fauna, belief belongs to birds and bees and is lost in eter.

and what about coke? that's a bit tough to sniff unless it comes from blue leaves. even that, doesn't justify, nonetheless, i reserve judgement. because it reminds me buadliere, poe, opium, morals. it happens. just like poetry.

Duke lexuar kete, te kam ne mendje ne nje dhome, duke recituar me koken lart dhe swinging me penela ne duar, duke kercyer ne hapa delikate, rrotulluar, me nje ze te ulet, te qete, dreamy, surreal, i rrethuar nga piktura, libra ne toke, hillje balerini, syte wondering look, i mbushur me opium, ne endrra te ngjyrosura me shkelqim syre-djeges. I lehte, fluturon, shkon e vjen, ne toke bije per sekonda, syte e mbyllur, kercen nen tingujn e rtitmit te fjaleve.

[Henri]

auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

(kjo më sipër ishte për poezinë, jo për Kullën :))

[kulla]

thanks henri! as for anja, where surreality starts, the reality of your vision stops.

[Veshtrusja]

..... it happens. just like poetry.

but it doesn't just happen...

[xhiko]

THE SICK ROSE
William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

[kulla]

xhikooooooo! I want the best flower poem that the english language posseses. no translations. name of the author, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeee





























and the name of the poem

[xhiko]

xhikooooooo! I want the best flower poem that the english language posseses. no translations. name of the author, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeee

and the name of the poem

"the best" according to whome?

[anja bojku]

O Xhiko kot ngacmohet kulla o. S'e ke kuptuar akoma?

Dhe per Blake, e dua shume per fantazine qe ka pasur sidomos ne poezine 'the tiger'

[*~Rexhina~*]

Dhe per Blake, e dua shume per fantazine qe ka pasur sidomos ne poezine 'the tiger'

gjithashtu "the lamb dhe Poison Tree" ...dhe pikturat e tij fantastike..

[kulla]

according to us.