Refusing at Fifty-Two to Write Sonnets by Thomas Lynch It came to him that he could nearly count How many Octobers he had left to him In increments of ten or, say, eleven Thus: sixty-three, seventy-four, eighty-five. He couldn’t see himself at ninety-six— Humanity’s […]
MoreOde to Age by Pablo Neruda I don’t believe in age. All old people carry in their eyes, a child, and children, at times observe us with the eyes of wise ancients. Shall we measure life in meters or kilometers or months? How far since you were born? How long […]
MoreMy last post on poet Frank Stanford (I just typed in “Frank Suicide,” which shows you where my head is) was overly long for a blog entry, so I cut myself off before I finished exploring his life. I’ll finish today and hopefully will put him and his dark charms behind me because this guy […]
MoreBlue Yodel of those Who Were Always Telling Me by Frank Stanford You look like you just woke up What did you do last night sleep in the fields Now all ofyou who ride the schoolbus during deer season be sure and duck down on the backroads Get on […]
MoreThe Beginning “Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?” the baby asked its mother. She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast- “You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling. You were in the dolls of my childhood’s games; and when with clay […]
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