I remember when being idealistic earned a young person a sympathetic smile and a pat on the head. Once he or she had finished school, though, such an outlook was considered impractical, and looked upon almost as threatening behavior. Making money was the thing. Impressing the neighbors. Getting ahead. Buying insurance. It was better to fit in and have a heart attack than it was to be comfortable in one’s […]
A great many years ago, my mother accidentally dropped a copy of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám out of the library window. About thirty years later, I saw it on my brother’s bookshelf. She’d inscribed it to him as a gift! . A Child’s Christmas Whence this peace falling into this upturned palm? . [ 970 ]
There remains the possibility, however slight, that even I, who live a very private, quiet life, might be destined to fulfill some kind of public role — public, that is, beyond these poems, notes, and drawings. Throughout history, there have been instances in which individuals have arisen from the common mass, as it were, seemingly coming out of nowhere, often even against their own personal desire or will, with some […]
Even in his grave, the old cat is as silent as he has always been. So soft, fall red, the geraniums. . [ 841 ]
A few years ago we brought home a stained-glass birdbath to hang in the backyard. It’s shallow and about the size of a small dinner plate, and though it has since become somewhat discolored, it’s still pretty with the light shining through it and onto the ivy below. I keep it full and fresh through the warm part of the year, then take it down late in the fall. Whenever […]
One thing we can learn from flowers is how to meet one another with an open, welcoming face . . . Imagine young parents pushing strollers filled with flowers . . . Through gardens of children blooming in the last May showers . . . And an earth rejoicing in the human race . . . Recently Banned Literature, May 23, 2017 [ 749 ]
My friend, if you can’t find the good news, be the good news. “Medium” Recently Banned Literature, March 8, 2017 After You You birds at the feeder, heedless of fate — Believe me, I share the same faith, And as long as you preach thus, I’m willing to wait. [ 707 ]
Dear crocus, sleeping in the morn — laughing later in the storm — my time to preach is past, but not my time to learn — or why — on earth — be born? Visions of Spring Our battered house tugs at its anchor in a sea of mud. In the galley, there are potatoes with bulging eyes, onions with hair, dwindling lumps of cheese and bread. From the […]
Back to the falls — but not the same falls, no; never have we seen the water rushing so madly; never have we heard it thundering so loudly on the rocks below; the creek in torrent, fed by laughing streams dancing across the path on one side, and spilling over ferns, moss, rocks, and downed branches on the other; a dusting of snow all around; the temperature about thirty-five degrees; […]
The pain? It’s not so bad. As the cold rain falls, I write the words withered fig, After the one I saw yesterday, still clinging to the bough. What made me pick it? I’d tell you if I knew. Even now, hard and brown, it’s out there on the ground. Even now, as tough and wet as hell. Even now, a piece of peace the sky holds down. The size […]
