Public Republic

Jeremy Paden Photo: briandeadly Do whales beach themselves because the idea of land is a gene-memory tucked away in every cell? Driven mad by the scent of lavender and verbena, do they swim up on land hoping to find that sad garden? Are their songs a recitation

“Hey You!” started as a poem written in a cafe in Amsterdam by Leah Kline and was set to music by the jazz composer Dirk Balthaus. The young actor Jasper van der Veen and the musicians Wolfgang Maiwald and Jase Maxwell helped to produce the corresponding video released on January 15, 2013. Music: Dirk Balthaus […]

Jeremy Paden Photo: ganesha.isis If I cannot be your shine, your floating thing, let me be your loricate, sea cradle, fastened to the belly of your rock. I can live in the saltiest of your waters. I will sing you songs of the days when all the world

Jeremy Paden Photo: KJGarbutt He asks me, Are you finding time to write? I smile, not because I’m not.

Chris McCurry Photo: Elvert Barnes While I slept they wandered into a hug, held the door for people drifting in and out of hotel lobbies, flipped through every page in the photography section at the public library. Today they resent holding a fork or accenting my words.

Chris McCurry Photo: ~Beekeeper~ Sleeping Child In soft light while reading, see the woman she will be, all she’ll do in life, the cities she’ll build, the men and women she will love. Highways You cannot focus on speed. With your brights on, as you drive under the overpass, read the graffitied walls.

Simon Perchik Photo: rivieragalleryartist And the sun by a single stroke broken into rain and forgetfulness –you lift a child’s bat that still has heat to it, a ball overgrown and against this mangy glove stumbles headlong as further on

Simon Perchik Photo: svintus2010 When this clock holds back its scent has meaning –even dogs are trained for lies or no lies –truth has a calm to it, by instinct soothes this kitchen wall flows underneath as bone and sleeplessness –you wait for night to reset the hands

Milena Valkanova Photo: alicepopkorn Killing black crows Never makes for Lost albino hopes

Faryad Shiri Photo: It’sGreg Poets are the shadows of birds Seeking on the earth Birds are poets’ dreams Free in the sky

Claudia Serea Photo: James Jordan I was the first to press the hot wax that sealed someone else’s fate. I pointed my finger: You, the cursed one.

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: scotthudson Many nights in a row he has been coming back to the terrace of my dreams, mounting its crumbling steps – a silent shade like an abandoned house, he seeks his face in the empty eyes of weathered window sills, a bandana of fading colors with a bundle of parched cornflowers […]

Katerina Stoykova Klemer Many times people have asked me what it is like to write poetry in a second language and what the difference is between writing in English and writing in Bulgarian. First, I want to say that I find joy in writing poems, and the joy of writing in English is identical to […]

Claudia Serea Photo: Akash k I thought I saw this man giving food to a shadow. I didn’t see a face, only the bread and cheese.

Faryad Shiri Photo: Peter Rosbjerg Let’s return to our dreams Damaged for lots of homes And place no one even though those who are like nothing Look there ! Beyond the mirror Moon is burning Didn’t you say no fighting?

Faryad Shiri Photo: Jessica Keating Photography You think the mirror has passed the dream edge at the time that loneliness is going home untouched And a note is left from you beside the mirror With some dried roses leaves Instead of sign I know That’s the remedy of my cries

Claudia Serea Photo: me and the sysop Some see toads jump from the tip of my tongue. I see money and back doors open for my family’s escape.

Katherine Van Hook Photo: Ferran Nogués He digging deep in untraceable patterns. and rose above the other trees, the lesser gods of a playing field. He was delighted, enjoying both bloom and leaves, of so many ornaments, that helped him appear.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstyandjames/237094195/sizes/z/in/photostream/ Photo: KristyM You can’t say there were murders or torture. I don’t believe anyone died in prison. Beside, people die all the time.

Claudia Serea Photo: Elsie esq. The skin doesn’t talk. Muscles don’t talk. The back doesn’t talk. Eyes don’t talk. Hair doesn’t. Only the bones. The bones talk.