April 2012
2 posts
January 2012
2 posts
November 2011
1 post
October 2011
2 posts
5 tags
Not knowing, is knowing enough...
Broken bones, been bruised and tortured,
Lived and died, bled and healed. I have Seen happiness upon purple skies,
streaked with the absence of smiles,
darkness in the sun I have been risking, unknowingly finding,
Somehow understanding that not knowing is
Knowing enough. I have Known love is unbelievably horrible,
that I shiver within That I suffer beneath floors, under doors,...
September 2011
3 posts
Doubt thou, the stars ...
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
From Hamlet Act 2 scene 2, as it appears in the 1623 First Folio. In modern form:
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
(Arden Shakespeare, 1982)
Crystal Clear.
Shards of shattered glass
are spread across the way,
breaking all the more at
everything you say. Don’t worry about tomorrow,
just let this all be.
Before you know it,
I’ll be a fading reverie. You left me, then,
walked right out that door,
my glass heart nothing more
than broken pieces on the floor.
I carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me
i carry it in my heart
i am never without it
anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling
i fear no fate
for you are my fate, my sweet
i want no world
for beautiful you are my world, my true
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest...
August 2011
9 posts
2 tags
Freedom at midnight, 15th August 1947
All that shines, is not gold
I was pretty happy about the work I have been doing in community health, till a week ago. And then I met a woman, a tribal woman, in her early twenties, in a remote village in Andhra Pradesh, India.
She had just had a baby. About 20 days old, the little girl, now named Suman was nursing happily, sucking at her mother’s breast. The mother, barely out of her teens, was achingly beautiful. And...
“Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human...”
– E. E. Cummings | 3 Statements on Poetry
July 2011
15 posts
“I have loved to the point of madness,
That which is you call madness,
That...”
– F. Sagan
The girl at the end of her World
She traveled to the end, not knowing what she would find She hoped and prayed to fall off the world and leave it all behind. You can’t rewind your life, nor change the path you took But staring into the abyss, she wasn’t ready to close the book.
Stuck at her world’s edge, she had no idea what to do Then she finally realized, she can find a world that’s new.
We were never infinite, and while...
“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center...
I resolved to see
Both heaven and hell.
Who would have suspected
it would be the sight of heaven
that haunted me most.
Belief isn’t always easy. But this much I have learned— if not enough else— to live with my eyes open. I know what everyone wants is a miracle. This wasn’t a miracle. Unless, of course, kindness— as now and again some rare person has suggested— is a miracle. As surely it is. —Mary Oliver, from “In the Storm,” from Thirst (Beacon Press, 2006)
Google+: And You Thought Facebook Is a Privacy... →
What’s particularly surprising is the virtually nonexistent privacy on Google+. If you have complained about a lack of privacy on Facebook before, you surely won’t like Google+, and if you freely voice your opinion that could get you in legal trouble, you may want to think twice about using Google+. The company’s general terms of service also apply to this new service, which would...
“Darkness Spills, But I Clean Well”
Devil woman
She wrote him devotions Clearly stated promises Through insane ramblings That she penned randomly It wasn’t as though each piece Stated in words “This is a promise from me” But she was clearly devoted Just by virtue of the fact That for every five poems she wrote At least three were inspired by him She loved him You could see it in her words Her usual harshness softened These were not love poems...
What are you scared of?
What don’t you want to see?
Or don’t want to confirm to not see?
Who ever said you don’t exist?
Look up, dear, I’ll be damned if
You don’t blush beneath
My contemplative gaze
But you never lifted your head
And now, the next challenge is
To make you look my way
“I never believed in death; Pieces of me die every day.”
“And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.”
—Raymond Carver | “Late Fragment”
“For the first forty days a child
is given dreams of previous lives. Journeys,...”
– Michael Ondaatje, Handwriting: Poems
Tearing through the sky Sparks of light, echoing calls Lightning and thunder In these I find no panic My favorite type of storm.
June 2011
16 posts
to those who fret
purveyor-of-fine-whines:
.
the world was already made before we, nothing in its construct and firmaments its systems and ideologies, its suggested pains, poisons, calculated age, assumed importance, or even its inevitable entropy should shackle guilt upon us, the world is a suit you freely don, you can go naked son.
“When the trip was good as over—when the train
would take us overnight to Rome, the flight
would take us home—I had the unimportant
moment I keep having. I wonder if
we choose what we recall?”
Beth Ann Fennelly, Souvenir.
“Why is the word yes so brief?
It should be
the longest,
the hardest,
so that...”
– Vera Pavlova, If There Is Something to Desire 9, 17, 18.
“… this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets
what they want....”
– Jorie Graham, from “Prayer”
When I remember all I lost or truth be known, threw away
Every mistake a bitter pill to make me who I am today
Craving what I couldn’t have hording treasure I didn’t need
I me my mine, I want it all desire an insatiable mouth to feed
Looking back, no complaints the hardest lessons taught me best
Somehow the road led me here to fight no more, it’s time to rest.
“Go, little book, and wish to all
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,
A...”
– Robert Louis Stevenson, Envoy.
And I wait for your
Sleepy eyes to wake so that
I may breathe again
Painted on faces,
Smiles so unreal,
Why the need
To be perfect we feel?
You’re allowed to struggle;
You’re allowed to cry;
You’re allowed to make mistakes;
The way that you’ve lost
Something never to be had.
Ever seen beauty in vulnerability?
For, in a perfect world,
Feeling is not the problem.
Our emotions buried deep,
So uncomfortable to share,
Below the surface we keep
...
What, then, is true love, if not a willingness to sacrifice of self —
A wish to witness their happiness, even if through a blur of tears?
The True Nature of Condensation
Condensation’s actually kind of sad.
It’s a cold bottle Stealing the kinetic energy Of innocent bystanders, Unknowing water vapor. It’s taking the chaos of a gas and forcing it to conform into A more ordered state of matter As entropy is decreased.
Yep, condensation’s rather depressing.
“Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.
~ Albert Einstein”
Through the white thin bone of a hare →
I wish I knew what quality drove people to write the books, poems, music and so on that I really admire. I was never quite sure what Yeats’s poem “The Collar-Bone of a Hare” meant, but after reading Seamus Heaney’s interpretation I think it has something to say on the matter. Yeats wrote:
I…
“Money, once again; all is money. All human relationships must be purchased with...”
– George Orwell - Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936)
“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we...”
– John Lennon 