The journal
A curated selection from the Moniqs archive, newest first. More stories are being moved over from the original site.
Poetry · Reflection
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune–without the words, … And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chillest land, And
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Poetry · Reflection
FEELING OF IMMORTALITY Please stop, I need silence inside Be quiet, there is so much noise No longer is it possible to live Words are floating away from me Dragged along with the ocean tide My body and soul are kept in piece While walking along this seashore Feelings are drawn aw
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Poetry · Reflection
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind… as if my Brain has split.. I tried to match it – Seam by Seam – But could not make it fit. Emily Dickinson
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Poetry · Reflection
MONIQUE UNA FLOR SE DESPERTO EN TU SOÑAR VIAJANDO ENTRE ESTRELLAS Y SUSPIROS TU, FRENTE A UN ESPEJO PURA E INOCENTE EN UN CAMINO DE MARES CON TU SONRISA DE NIÑA CON TU PIEL DE MUJER LAGRIMAS Y COLORES SENTADA EN LA PLAYA, TERNURA DE TU ALMA UNIVERSO DE MIRADAS SENTIMIENTOS………………
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Poetry · Reflection
Poetry involves the mysteries of the irrational perceived through rational words. Vladimir Nabokov
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Poetry · Reflection
“Ultimately a poem, and the mystery of it, cuts the meaning of the world clear, where it is bound fast by thousands of ordinary words …” Robert Musil Austrian author (1880-1942) of the famous novel The Man without Qualities
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Poetry · Reflection
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these” Emily Dickinson (American Poe
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Poetry · Essay
The Future And I know full well you won’t be there. You won’t be in the street, in the hum that buzzes from the arc lamps at night, nor in the gesture of selecting from the menu, nor in the smile that lightens people packed into the subway, nor in the borrowed books, nor in
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Poetry · Reflection
“When we get out of the glass bottles of our ego, and when we escape like squirrels turning in the cages of our personality and get into the forests again, we shall shiver with cold and fright but things will happen to us so that we don’t know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will r
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Poetry · Reflection
THE BRIEF LOVE How smoothly and how sweetly she lifts me from the bed where I was dreaming of profound and fragrant fields, she runs her fingers over my skin and sketches me in space, suspended, until the kiss alights curved and recurrent a slow flame kindling the rhythmic dance
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Poetry · Reflection
DUSK I feel my heart melting in the mildness like candles my veins are slow oil and not wine, and I feel my life fleeing hushed and gentle like the gazelle. Gabriela Mistral (April 7, 1889 – January 10, 1957 / Vicuna / Chile)
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Poetry · Reflection
“It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.” ~Stephen Mallarme
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