Sad Cafe by Rene Hunter

I’m honored to be featured at Masticadores,
A truly lovely site.


art by Fabian Perez

Sad Cafe
Rene Hunter[author’s site]

Autumn leaves have begun to fall.
Late October London is ablaze in
hues of orange and purple.
On my bench by the river I daydream
that I am an adolescent reptile
escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung
laid back basking in the sun.
The air is layered in cologne,
men do notinterest me now.
I am content to casually observe.
To my advantage I know all about them
while they know so little about me.
Thinking of you against my wishes,
dying a little, dead all the sweet hope
and dreams never realized, I imagine my
earthly body padded,sat beside yours
on a grassy knoll breathing in the scent of lilac
and the mossy green River Delta.
In the dark I am nude but for a shadow
across my torso.
You are so near and to distract myself

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You and I

Gently winding

the current that we sail

softly gliding

this way –

no, fly there.

Hearts beating,  throats

pulsing, supernovae bursting

more brilliant than the sun.

Alone i become

the pulpy heart of a

sand piper begging salt

with soulful eyes

whose cry unravels

the deepest maze or

 spun gold coils.

You and I ,

the sky and sea,

and we the cord strung between.

Wallpaper Girl flight with long braid, clouds, sea, art photography

Boogapony – Hip Trip on Route 66

Resa has taken us for a ride along Route 66 and it’s fabulous! Be there or be square! 🍹

Graffiti Lux Art & More

It’s official!Boogapony Holly is on tour! After ponying on down to a slew of Chicago’s street art, she took off in a Paco Rabanne chain link mini dress w/ Go-Go boots.

She bought this art car, to make the trip to Monterey, California. Although 54 years late to the summer of love party, its spirit beckoned.

Celeste bagged the job of driving Boogapoy’s old van. Along with on loading, off loading and setting up, she’s a pretty good back up dancer; a true Poniette.

Don’t miss the magic,as they hit some of the nation’s sweetest street art and attractions along Route 66.

Miles of Route 66 are un-drivable. Interstate detours are necessary. In Missouri, over 300 miles run SW from St. Louis to Joplin. Fab diners & vintage roadside attractions are all waiting for the Boogapony experience & photo op.

St. Louis to Tulsa is the heart of…

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red dawn

House of Heart

interlacing tendrils weaving
desert sand,  bodies
stretching, giving way,
every ripple replicated
In the amber sand.
The night desert is damp
With dewdrops of sweet dreams
where each sigh is a vow.
Silently I inscribe
Arabesque across the grain of your skin so when you awaken you will remember.

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Night Music

Your jeans are tight on your thighs,  you are unshaven, I think you are beautiful.   I’m surprised that I notice,  I never really see you anymore.  We linger by  the duck pond where you pull a packet of bread crumbs from your back pocket. Feathery creatures  rush up as though they know you.   Lately when we make love it is without  passion. My mind wanders to other men I’ve known, I wonder about them, where they are, what became of them.   I never want you to know. You are pure,  trusting,  so naive darling it it is frightening.  Lovers pass by, they don’t speak. One is distracted, detached. The other emaciated with the eyes of a corpse, like a woman who loves but is far away. 


Your eyes are Himalayan  blue, they mutate like the colors of sparkling stars to a silver cold planet. Your indifference defeats me until I am nothing more than an empty  vessel sailed  away to write love letters on diaphanous sails of a windward sloop. When your nights are long and you are far from home, you may find me in the brush of a homeless Chartreux winding about your feet or in the sunflower eyes  of a  gypsy girl waiting by the harbor.

Vincent Van Gogh


You want her to be real
A half smile curve of lips
a glide of a hand through hair

the click of heels on a marble floor
You want to be her clothes
falling  softly about her feet 
that have formed the shape of wings 

and when she arches her back
she soars as high as chimera can fly.

Luigi Quarti

art by Luigi Quarti “fallen angel”

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A Winged Bird

I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of  a waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise  to a soft dawn
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.

I can scarcely bear the

splendor of the world,

its wonder humbles

the wisp  that is me.

Minutiae of eyes and ears

and speechless tongue

stunned by the promise

of a  red dawn.

Elegant trees  lift

their mighty limbs

host to creatures

large and small.

Their noble crowns filled

with the cornucopia of life.

I want to sail the sea tiny fleck that is me   bearer of no possession fragment of the universe

art by Amy Judd (represented by Hicks Gallery)

Translation by  Bernd Hutschenreuther

Ein geflügelter Vogel sein

Ich vermag kaum, den Glanz
der Welt zu enthüllen,
ihre Wunder schmälern
noch meine Winzigkeit.
Details von Augen und Ohren
und Zunge, stumm,
erstaunt vom Versprechen
eines Sonnenaufgangs.
Vornehme Bäume erheben
ihre erhabenen Arme,
mächtige Götter im Gebet,
Gastgeber unzähliger Geschöpfe,
abgezupft in rot und grün,
Füllhörner mit Nüssen und Beeren
zieren ihre edlen Kronen.
Ich möchte das Meer durchsegeln,
winziger Fleck, der ich bin,
ein geflügelter Vogel, Träger
keines Besitzes, ein erfreuliches
Fragment des Alls,
einem jeden sichtbar.

Deutsch: Bernd Hutschenreuther

memory loves you

your kiss

does it still taste of summer oranges?

I can’t forget, I keep your note in

my pocket.

Summer has turned to fall and

my hair the color of autumn leaves.

There’s a garland of abalone

plucked from the river wrapped

around my wrist and on my chest

I’ve etched a song bird fading in a wood

carved world.

I’ve wrapped you in the warmth

of my embrace for fear we may

never kiss kiss again,

still my memory loves you.