write something positive–
something about amber leaves
or silver cobwebs
the smell of books and brewing coffee,
or 3:00 am labyrinthine logic
write about her soft whisper
and long shadows on the bricks
as the sun sets on another long October day
I want to write about the state of our political world, the injustice, the oversight, the ignorance—but that’s not what my blog is about, I don’t talk about politics
I want to write about the state of our collective consciousness, the pros and cons of a hive-mentality, the necessity of it for survival as well as its potential to negatively influence culture—but that’s not what my blog is about, I don’t talk about morals
I want to write about being a citizen of the world, how average people don’t immigrate for fun—folks leave their country, their language, their food, their families, their jobs, their homes in order to improve their lives and the lives of their children by prospering in a safe environment. There is a protocol for immigration, that is understood. There are laws to be observed in order for a society to function, all very true. But desperate people do desperate things. And if you’ve never been desperate in this life, count yourself lucky—but that’s not what my blog is about, I don’t talk about empathy
I want to write about misogyny—the idea that in the year 2025 we still shame victims of abuse, we still use laws to control women’s bodies, we still base medical testing on males only, we are willing to vote for a convicted criminal rather than a black woman—but that’s not what my blog is about, I don’t talk about racial and gender equality
It might be time to bring this little blog that is 11 years old to a close for now. I’m not sure, I’ll have to think a bit more upon it. I’ve lost my enthusiasm for making my writing public on this forum. I’ve always thought of the writing here as a bit of a respite from reality. But, I don’t know, I can’t quite work out if it’s shallow in the face of so much that is wrong in our lives or a testament to all that is right in my own (privileged) life, most likely a little of both.
I’ll leave you for now, with some images that I do blog about: a robin’s egg found in a potted fern, irises and my little sweet girl, Juliet. Be well readers, walk the world with as much inner peace as you can possibly acquire.
at night, we look at art; women with long dresses and ladders leaning on moons, curled up statues fight the
dark evening chill—fog rises from the damp leaves and seeps into our bones, into our exhaled breaths as we
contemplate unspoken questions, from unspoken conversations with dead poets and philosophers and husbands and wives
oh my sweet and tender-hearted girl,
i feel you
i steal you
i reel you
onto my table-top orbit—
i was once new
i was once true
i was once you
For whatsoever from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide unto another brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
from The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser, 1590
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Dream Variation by Langston Hughes, from The Weary Blues published in 1926
The past, the present,
the future falling fast.
The now, the then,
the if, the how, the when–
of us, of them,
of me and sometimes you,
of her and him,
of whirlwinds painted blue.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads…
from A Visit by St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore
Walking at the blue hour of morning,
wet and cold and almost foreboding–
I hear the train in the distance…
It races past with a steamy, pulsating pace
that blows my red scarf onto my face–
I pause to pick up the terrified pup.
biking on the black bridge
bits of blue between the clouds
soft breezes from the river
my son and I watch the barge below–
this moment beautifully burned into my memory
spanishwoods 