Shelves

Our “Shelves” category features all manner of literary writing, including personal essay, poetry, fiction, and texts that are hard to classify.

Illuminations on Ocracoke Ferry

Illuminations on Ocracoke Ferry

Poetry is an ancient filament of expression illuminating a point of view lyrically through sparse, carefully selected words, to create images that connect to the poet’s heartfelt vision of an event, person, or object. In so doing, poetry becomes a timeless art that touches and often pierces its readers with vivid insights and discoveries that makes a poem a special gift that sustains itself through time, memory, and recitation. The poems in my book are the sand, pebbles, fossils, and rocks that have chiseled, shaped and metamorphosized me.

   You are the lone minstrel to my feelings  

As I star wish under you, mysterious moon. 

An old, pasty gray face etched in white,  

Saying, “Oh!” to whatever I ask of you, 

Only crystal clarity, for you cast no shadow. 

   So unlike the sun, who warms everything. 

  

   At night, you act like my celestial buoy, 

Upon the oceans’ jet blackness, 

Illuminating the ferry’s route across the channel. 

Lurking in the deep is Blackbeard’s ghost; 

Salty sea breezes grab sensibilities. 

     So unlike the sun, who warms everything. 

 

   Like a tempest, you dance upon waves 

Causing tides to surge in laughter.                           

Like a silver medallion you outshine,      

Disguising all defining shape, 

Sprinkling alluring tea lights upon rough surf. 

   So unlike the sun, who warms everything.   

 

   Waxing full, I perceive your brilliance, 

Under the night sky, I reflect, like you. 

As you change lunar phases, 

You transform the minute to eternal. 

Magically giving transparency to thought. 

   So unlike the sun, who warms everything. 

Find out more about my book (and preview it some more) at my website, here.

A Bend in the Road

A Bend in the Road

Christopher Bowen sits down with the founder and editor of Bending Genres to talk about their literary journal, their writing community, and the future of their empire

Spaniel

Spaniel

I stare at my profile pic. I don’t smile. I’m not a bad person. The last bad thing I did, the last nasty thing, I did when I was only ten.

2021 Wishes

2021 Wishes

Dear TaoE Community, We are beyond grateful to everyone who joined our community this year and delighted the world with authentic and...

A Bend in the Road

A Bend in the Road

Christopher Bowen sits down with the founder and editor of Bending Genres to talk about their literary journal, their writing community, and the future of their empire

Spaniel

Spaniel

I stare at my profile pic. I don’t smile. I’m not a bad person. The last bad thing I did, the last nasty thing, I did when I was only ten.

2021 Wishes

2021 Wishes

Dear TaoE Community, We are beyond grateful to everyone who joined our community this year and delighted the world with authentic and remarkable art and wonderful support for our mission. What a graceful extension of everyone’s warmth, light and...

Chums

Chums

I’ve found a couch, said my chum. We’ll have more room to sit. And behold we took the couch up the stairs.

Art – Essential or Not?

Art – Essential or Not?

Is art essential then? According to my Warhol-inspired interpretation, art is individual freedom, drawing from a collective source. It is the need, the desire to create despite the challenges of one’s own time, it is an invitation to see beauty between disasters, listen up, slow down, but also live out loud. So, it is essential.

Leviathan

Leviathan

I look down to our hands, both wrinkly, more aged than I ever thought they’d be. ‘I just want you to know, I’m sorry.’ She leans in to kiss my cheek. We go back to our ice creams.

m • a

m • a

“However haunted their minds and echoed skulls and tremored bone, they dug for respite and rest…” This is the final of three flash fiction pieces by Shome Dasgupta.

Future Memories of Love

Future Memories of Love

“Soporific glint—hums of light permeated through their pores, tunneled beams like fresh-born hay and straw…” begins the second, hopeful flash fiction feature by Shome Dasgupta.