Tag Archives: poetry

Lost

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you, If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here. ... Read More »

The Air

Air vapors

is warm with those still waiting to be born. They flit past us   like mosquitoes, then scramble— tenuous as the station   at the far end of the dial. Bloodless, they’re blood to us all.   By winter they lift upward slowly, through the grainy peaks   of snowdrifts or a streetlamp’s conical glow. How small we   must ... Read More »

I Dwell in Possibility

Emily Dickinson

I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars – Impregnable of eye – And for an everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky – Of Visitors – the fairest – For Occupation – This – The spreading wide my narrow Hands To ... Read More »

On Living

gray squirrel

I   Living is no laughing matter: you must live with great seriousness like a squirrel, for example — I mean without looking for something beyond and above living, I mean living must be your whole occupation. Living is no laughing matter: you must take it seriously, so much so and to such a degree that, for example, your hands ... Read More »

OPEN CULTURE: James Earl Jones Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

For all its many flaws the original Star Wars trilogy never strayed too far afield because of the deep well of gravitas in James Earl Jones’ voice. The ominous breathing, the echo effect, and that arresting baritone—no amount of dancing Ewoks could take away from his vocal performance. And though Jones’ expressive face has also carried many a film, his ... Read More »

The Reader

the reader

It waited for him in the dusty treatises On his father’s bookshelf, in the back stacks Of the local library, in the rare book room And the manuscript collection on the fifth floor, In the basement where they kept the well-thumbed Periodicals and crumbling theology texts. Unshelved and displaced, uncatalogued, overdue, It waited in the background while he scanned The ... Read More »

In My Nightmare

In my nightmare my life had become a habit built and trained by you and you and you. You told me what I should like, what I shouldn’t, how I should act and feel, where I should go, whom I should like and be like, what I ought to aspire to. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. ... Read More »

The Railing

black and white photo of child on chair

A child stood on his seat in a restaurant, holding the railing of the chairback, as though to address a courtroom, “Nobody knows what’s going to happen next.” Then his turning-slide back down to his food, relieved and proud to say the truth, as were we to hear it.   —Coleman Barks Read More »

VICTORIA FLOOR: An Anti-despot Screed

The Koch Brothers as clowns

Stand By Meek The U.S. of Koch is a telltale sign: our demise is near, and there’s no divine. We are not a herd, or a swarming hive; among our kind, but a few can’t thrive. There won’t be time to adjust our genes, our race is poised for some horror scenes. When the masses die at the rogues’ behest, ... Read More »