There is nothing in the back of this cafe. It sits right on the margin between the edge of the world and infinite possibilities.
Gloria Naylor, Bailey’s Café
The Sad Cafe V
A Love Story by Holly Hunter and Hyperion Sturm
By Holly Hunter
When all that I want is so far away
and all that is left is solitude,
I chant your name through warm
currents of breath or sharp ice
shadows of entities.
I’ve etched my likeness into the stars
a dreamer in fields of flowers
a bouquet of affection fragile jonquils
pressed against a heart.
Tethered to cloud banks of silvery sleep
we meet in fantasies and the
sweetness of a lover’s suffering
The Sad Cafe seemed to show its age. The awning was dulled by the accumulation of time and the brass handle no longer glittered in the light cast by…
She Doesn’t Speak French
By Holly Hunter
On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels
My eyelids are heavy with smoky glitter.
Among the art I find you
your essence pierces my veins
settles in the pool of my heart
soft lights flicker their last warning in the sad cafe where
like willows, we sway to long-forgotten love songs
then you are gone, a Modigliani reclining, never hearing
Je t’aime, the only French I know.
Five Years Earlier
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…
Ich schrieb dieses Gedicht nur für dich. Ich möchte, dass es perfekt sei, mit Versen, hell wie ein ein Sommertag. Wallende Wolken, aufsteigende Nelken aus einem Garten, den ich erschaffen habe. Lehn dich zurück in meine Rosenblüte, eine farbige Schaukel und geb dich Tagträumen hin, bis es Zeit ist zu gehen. Ich möchte, dass du regierst … Ich will nicht besitzen, nur dabei sein.
By Holly Hunter
I left a message for you in a book.It is like me to mark provocative phrases,to shake them out in ponderous verses.Do not read too much in the fallout,the notes in the border are for nostalgia’s sake.I dreamt of you again last night,
whose aura I barely recall.My suffering is not in knowing what was realbut what was not.
Ten Years Earlier
The Library at the University of Paris, the Sorbonne, amplifies loneliness in ancient manuscripts along high walls. It’s islands of tables, worn sofa’s, and plush chairs remind Renate of her isolation in a place brimming with students. Her…
These weeks and months are just flying by so quickly these days, I hardly turn around and another week has gone by. But that in itself is a good thing, as I live in the now of moments, and to think too far into the future right now with all that is happening within our world only makes us anxious as we see what is unfurling before us.
A Mornings Harvest
This was a mornings harvest of tomatoes, Carrots and cucumbers , two varieties. The green ones as normal top middle and the yellow round ones are called lemon crystal cucumbers.. Very tasty.
Crystal Lemon Cucumber
This is just a mornings pickings of french dwarf beans. This year we decided to try the yellow variety. These freeze well, and all of these were frozen after washing and preparing them. We also have had a great harvest of Runner…