POETRY PACIFIC

Bionote Peter Victor is a writer, photographer and poet living in Ellsworth, Maine. He traveled abroad extensively with th...

That’s not the rain  It affects us more than we say,  this darkening artillery water  building the blank spaces  between you and ...

Spring When I die it will be Spring: before dawn, only the dim  fluorescent above the stove, the distant burble of birds.  I ...

Anchor  A box of photos sinks me back to giggles  lost in sand building castles  over and over again.  Distance  i...

The Curse Thrown across the bare wood floor the crumpled, yellow legal paper half opens against the skirting-board; a knotted fist ...

Lake of Peace   Warm peace flows gently calling us softly on the waves of fragile on the sands soft tile where I can rest a while ...

Dear Hunger Pangs,  This desert body needs no oasis. You feed this lovely barrenness-- emptiest desert ever seen. Storms come thr...

Twilight When the sky turns slate,  and grows still and silent,  and twilight touches with  its smudge of suggestions.  And a...

MESSIAEN   It is the empty air  that knits fragments of birdcall.  Light breaks in divine discord  while the wise ear sleeps  ...

HOW TO When taste buds open in the winter morning of the mouth, the ultraviolets are pollinated by the scintillating fog of ice, the f...

THE SPOILS Those who know when old Is new again are The ‘Bareback Riders’ Before The Age of Quartz. Who speak ‘if’ spoken To, yet c...

Vegas Dry throat, burnt eyes, he found his way outside to the shock of open air the red dusk sky. Drifting from the hotel’s hulked...

Willow at the Public Garden The willow in winter stands tall, intent on her audience, the tourists on benches, the baby strollers, t...

BESMRTNI SNOVI  … ETERNAL DREAMS  I call out her name  at night  while she is asleep.  …  The reflexion of probabi...

5 Poems Excerpts from World at Large Part 2 Collected Poems in alphabetical order  (i.)  Day of Adam O great grandmother of Eden * ...

Toast Some days the smell of toast throws me back five years. Today is one of those days. Curtains open at 8am. A bad night’s sleep. ...

The tall man is here.   I see flowers, dripping from his hands;  that flow towards me.  Following my song lines,  it encir...

Asilomar Songs  Old ocean hushes hisses,  its steady breath the rush  beneath the rise and fall  of chanting waves,  of water...

We Are Doves   The day I met you butterflies sang their songs of 1,000 fluttering wings Their songs drew the hummingbirds who adde...

BRANCH   Branch, heavy with last night’s snow, bending like that. Dripping, like sweat, like tears, waiting for the sun to reli...