MY RECENT POSTS
- mundane epiphanies
January 06, 2014 12:06PM
- all souls prayer
November 01, 2013 11:14PM
October 05, 2013 06:26PM
- conquer this
July 21, 2013 11:22AM
- the bright obvious
July 14, 2013 07:20PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “The wraith of almost is
the haunting all, isn't
I'm glad you're
well. The pen…”
November 26, 2013 07:10PM
- “This shines - wonderful
rhythms and inner rhymes -
music in it and it
November 26, 2013 07:01PM
- “Those first few dances
are awkward, anyway - so many
November 26, 2013 06:51PM
- “I'm supposed to be doing
laundry. Or cleaning up after
November 26, 2013 06:38PM
- “Thanks, all, for
visiting and for your
That must have been
November 09, 2013 08:24AM
- helpful hints
- the orphanage
William Gedney Photographs and
Duke University David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library
My siblings and I fantasized about our parents getting a divorce. Anything for a little peace, for not having to walk around on eggshells, for not having to worry about when the next tremor would turn into a full-blown quake. The instability and tension invited… Read full post »
There is nothing at all that can be talked about adequately,
and the whole art of poetry is to say what can't be said.
- Alan Watts
The Language for Loss
What is inarticulable remains so.
Now I am told things differently
and everything speaks of you.
I have learned… Read full post »
There is poetry as soon as we realize that we possess nothing.
- John Cage
I call dibs. Who else wants
the blank page, the black hole.
Lost horizon? I own it.
Mine the numinous emptiness
(Mine the dust… Read full post »
I think one of poetry’s functions is not to give us what we want… [T]he poet isn’t always of use to the tribe. The tribe thrives on the consensual. The tribe is pulling together to face the intruder who threatens it. Meanwhile, the poet is sitting by himself in the… Read full post »
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
- Carl Sandburg
Rounding a crumbled corner
we half expect a giant pair of mouse ears
but the small world, after all,
gets smaller from a distance.
Instead there’s a brothel ruin,
bereft of desirous flesh -
The work of the poet is to name what is holy.
- Diane Ackerman
In The Histories
I was reading about the queen
who built a room for flooding;
there she invited her betrayers to banquet
and there they drowned.
I knew Mom would be up for it
since our… Read full post »
Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.
It's 3 a.m. and I'm thinking I want to be asleep in a dream… Read full post »
People cannot stand the saddest truth I know about the very nature of reading and writing imaginative literature, which is that poetry does not teach us how to talk to other people: it teaches us how to talk to ourselves.
- Harold Bloom
How odd to be here surprised by it,
what was coming, if it came -
as it has so far, so far seeming
like the coyote’s tip-toe lifted -
now the precise shadow of an ACME anvil falling.
The desire for zest, for acrid pith,
tearing membrane, the bright acid sweet-oiled or… Read full post »
Have you got a hangover from this morning’s
intensely present, dark and blurry edges shadowing the green and sunny day?
Are you afraid of Hell? Will some final spiraling fall be worse
or even different than its simultaneous presence all these years:
the loss and gri… Read full post »
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