Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary Gender:
Posted:
Aug 31, 2020 - 8:28am
Parlor by Rita Dove
We passed through on the way to anywhere else. No one lived there but silence, a pale china gleam,
and the tired eyes of saints aglow on velvet. Mom says things are made to be used. But Grandma insisted peace was in what wasn't there, strength in what was unsaid.
It would be nice to have a room you couldn't enter, except in your mind. I like to sit on my bed plugged into my transistor radio, "Moon River" pouring through my head.
How do you use life? How do you feel it? Mom says
things harden with age; she says Grandma is happier now. After the funeral, I slipped off while they stood around remembering-away from all the talking and eating and weeping
to sneak a peek. She wasn't there. Then I understood why she had kept them just so:
Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary Gender:
Posted:
Aug 13, 2020 - 8:50am
oldviolin wrote:
ScottN wrote:
French Chocolates by Ellen Bass
If you have your health, you have everything is something that's said to cheer you up when you come home early and find your lover arched over a stranger in a scarlet thong.
Or it could be you lose your job at Happy Nails because you can't stop smudging the stars on those ten teeny American flags.
I don't begrudge you your extravagant vitality. May it blossom like a cherry tree. May the petals of your cardiovascular excellence and the accordion polka of your lungs sweeten the mornings of your loneliness.
But for the ill, for you with nerves that fire like a rusted-out burner on an old barbecue, with bones brittle as spun sugar, with a migraine hammering like a blacksmith
in the flaming forge of your skull, may you be spared from friends who say, God doesn't give you more than you can handle and ask what gifts being sick has brought you.
May they just keep their mouths shut and give you French chocolates and daffodils and maybe a small, original Matisse, say, Open Window, Collioure, so you can look out at the boats floating on the dappled pink water.
If you have your health, you have everything is something that's said to cheer you up when you come home early and find your lover arched over a stranger in a scarlet thong.
Or it could be you lose your job at Happy Nails because you can't stop smudging the stars on those ten teeny American flags.
I don't begrudge you your extravagant vitality. May it blossom like a cherry tree. May the petals of your cardiovascular excellence and the accordion polka of your lungs sweeten the mornings of your loneliness.
But for the ill, for you with nerves that fire like a rusted-out burner on an old barbecue, with bones brittle as spun sugar, with a migraine hammering like a blacksmith
in the flaming forge of your skull, may you be spared from friends who say, God doesn't give you more than you can handle and ask what gifts being sick has brought you.
May they just keep their mouths shut and give you French chocolates and daffodils and maybe a small, original Matisse, say, Open Window, Collioure, so you can look out at the boats floating on the dappled pink water.
Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary Gender:
Posted:
Jul 21, 2020 - 8:04am
Dawn Revisited
by Rita Dove
Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay hawks his pretty wares and the oak still stands, spreading glorious shade. If you don’t look back, the future never happens. How good to rise in sunlight, in the prodigal smell of biscuits – eggs and sausage on the grill. The whole sky is yours to write on, blown open to a blank page. Come on, shake a leg! You’ll never know who’s down there, frying those eggs, if you don’t get up and see.
Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary Gender:
Posted:
Jun 27, 2020 - 8:36am
French Chocolates by Ellen Bass
If you have your health, you have everything is something that's said to cheer you up when you come home early and find your lover arched over a stranger in a scarlet thong.
Or it could be you lose your job at Happy Nails because you can't stop smudging the stars on those ten teeny American flags.
I don't begrudge you your extravagant vitality. May it blossom like a cherry tree. May the petals of your cardiovascular excellence and the accordion polka of your lungs sweeten the mornings of your loneliness.
But for the ill, for you with nerves that fire like a rusted-out burner on an old barbecue, with bones brittle as spun sugar, with a migraine hammering like a blacksmith
in the flaming forge of your skull, may you be spared from friends who say, God doesn't give you more than you can handle and ask what gifts being sick has brought you.
May they just keep their mouths shut and give you French chocolates and daffodils and maybe a small, original Matisse, say, Open Window, Collioure, so you can look out at the boats floating on the dappled pink water.
38.9639677,-120.1198166 I go there, sometimes, in a physical sense more often, without thinking so much I'll find myself there for a moment or an hour or a day abandoning the audacity of our mortality peeling away from the harshness of reality I rise through open country skimming past the golden foothills buffeting breezes among the ragged ridge lines above blue waters, across green meadows to that desolate wilderness beyond man's reach pass the end of that narrow bumpy road beyond the narrower windswept trail up the steps built on the back of the father of my fatherâs father to our nest above that cabin in the sky and we fade into alpen glow within the hole bored behind the lightning scar Oh Pinus jeffreyi! Our hardy home we may be fat but we are content to look out upon our favorite view and nestle in for the longest winter of our lives. -W. LeTendre
feel how your breathing makes more space around you. Let this darkness be a bell tower and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your strength. Move back and forth into the change. What is it like, such intensity of pain? If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
In this uncontainable night, be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses, the meaning discovered there.
And if the world has ceased to hear you, say to the silent earth: I flow. To the rushing water, speak: I am.
If you click on the F it is a Facebook link but then I realized you don't have an account so I'll watch it for you and give you a link to the video when I get one. Stay safe.
Location: 543 miles west of Paradis,1491 miles eas Gender:
Posted:
Apr 16, 2020 - 5:09am
AliGator wrote:
If you click on the F it is a Facebook link but then I realized you don't have an account so I'll watch it for you and give you a link to the video when I get one. Stay safe.