Public Republic

Jeremy Paden Photo: petitefox bearing his heart in grief and all Denmark passing by him as he sobs in the street, old and young embarrassed to see a lover lost in something he does not understand. What is this that beckons him, that will not release his heart? O despised pangs of love.

Jeremy Paden Photo: molly_darling freedom, or is a love that does not get jealous, does not beg, plead and stand before you like a bored, hungry child, wanting

Jeremy Paden Photo: THE… There were words we never said. I thought it was because we did not need to, only children point to the ghostly moon in the blue sky and speak its name. Can we say love and mean a year of Jubilee—

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

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.

Christopher McCurry interviews author Jeremy Paden Tell us about yourself and your soon to be released book Broken Tulips (Accents Publishing 2013). I was born in Milan, Italy, where my dad was studying medicine. But I was raised in the southern U.S. (Texas, Georgia, and Louisiana) and in Central America and the Caribbean (Nicaragua, Costa […]