Racism doesn’t require the presence of malice, only the presence of bias and ignorance, willful or otherwise.
–Charles M. Blow, NY Times Op-Ed piece, a day after “a New York grand jury refused to indict a police officer who choked and killed Eric Garner on a Staten Island sidewalk.”
There are no soul mates. Not in the traditional sense, at least. In my 20s someone told me that each person has not one but 30 soul mates walking the earth. (“Yes,” said a colleague, when I informed him of this, “and I’m trying to sleep with all of them.”) In fact, “soul mate” isn’t a pre-existing condition. It’s an earned title. They’re made over time.
–Pamela Druckerman, in a New York Times Op-Ed
POEM #—I DON’T KNOW…
Pretty much the way of the title my life without you goes:
‘Not knowing where the light of the world went’ when I am
I loose the straight line that connects me to the center of all
good I’ve discovered in forty years of walking the roads,
I don’t have to contend with friction or images of conflict
that show up in this mirrored instant we hold to each other.
Without you, all expectations, yearnings, expressions of lust,
are orphans born into the world, meaningless thoughts
going nowhere or disappearing into the darkness outside,
I’ve often imagined my days, getting used to the impossible
thought you bear, like the cross where a dream dies alone,
is also you without me, the letting go of the hand, the tearing
of heart tissue, the void in the eyes I become when I am
—or you without me.
Via Yorick Reintjens
Love made the list…
Acquiesce Submit or comply silently or without protest.
Ailurophile A cat-lover.
Ameliorate To make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory
Assemblage A gathering.
Beleaguer To exhaust with attacks.
Brood To think alone.
Bucolic In a lovely rural setting.
Bungalow A small, cozy cottage.
Callipygous Having beautifully proportioned buttocks.
Cathartic Inducing catharsis; purgative. Continue reading
I was invited by my good friend–and singer/songwriter extraordinaire–Andy Marino to read my work at this venue. I call these poems Attempts @ Poetry. They’re love poems written for a woman I’ve loved for 17 years. Or maybe it’s a thousand years, I lose count. Her name is Viola. She washed ashore on my island one day…