The Fox Den – Shelley Whitaker As a kid on Spring evenings while junebugs hooked their legs into every drop of water and lassos of grey moths sliced the air, I would sit mid-driveway waiting for a family of fox pups to emerge from their hole in the earth beside our house. Every May evening … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Shelley Whitaker
I’ve baked a fair amount of bread in my life, but not much in recent years. That’s what happens when you live within a mile or two of several great bakeries. Each sells a kind of bread I can only find there. Turtle Bread for olive bread and a loaf of multigrain that tastes delicious … Continue reading Wild yeast
Something Else – Gregory Djanikian There’s the lush grass again, the white pines green and mysterious. And the barn, too, in the distance, fading red, the color of longing. The afternoon light is gilding the hillside, the clouds are moving together, huge, incipient thoughts, and you’re swooning with desire wanting the beautiful to lie down … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Gregory Djanikian
Station – Sharon Olds Coming in off the dock after writing, I approached the house, and saw your long grandee face in the light of a lamp with a parchment shade the color of flame. An elegant hand on your beard. Your tapered eyes found me on the lawn. You looked as the lord looks … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Sharon Olds
Love Sonnet LXXXIX – Pablo Neruda When I die, I wish your hands upon my eyes: I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands to pass once more their cool touch over me: to sense the softness that changed my fate. I want you to live while I, asleep, await you. I … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Pablo Neruda
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
"you are not alone," the poem said, in the dark tunnel. ~Louise Glück
Your Source For The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
