from a play...
We've got rights - the right to starve
We've got jobs - waiting for work
We're all brothers - lousy and dirty
We're all free and equal to die - like dogs.
from a magazine ad...
Why should I care?
I am a tireless seeker of knowledge and leave no
stone unturned in my quest for universal truth.
Fog by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes on little cat feet
It sits looking over the harbor and city, on silent haunches and then moves on.
Adrienne Rich wrote...
I'd rather taste blood, yours, or mine, flowing from a sudden slash, than cut all day
with blunt scissors on the dotted lines like the teacher told.
Martin spoke on an episode of "The Simpsons"...
"So, the degree of mischief is inversely proportional to the proximity of the
American author and editor, Timothy Thomas Fortune (1856-1928) said...
"Human, it may be, to err, and to forgive divine, but for man to extend forgiveness
too far is positively fatal."
From Beakman, regarding anti-matter...
Matter is just a way for energy to be. And energy is just a way for matter to be.
From a magazine, In Irish Colors...
Excited by nature
Naive for fun
Cynical when necessary
Malicious by tradition
Disillusioned at times
Always on guard --
Part of a work known as "Dark Thoughts", the author, Eric
--- Never discount your fears, beloved of the tears. What we have this one day is far,
far more than most any eye will see, or most heart will feel. Between the bloodied sorrow
of what will be, and the mindful past of what was, there is this moment of glory that we
to revel in. It is to this now that we must toast and revere, for it will sustain us in
the ever more.
--- We do stand here and there, sometimes glancing at each other. The distance is so
great, though we are but in one room. Miles and miles of earth we tread, hand in hand,
heart in stead. It makes me wonder now, ever how we lost our love and compassion. I wonder
what you think of me, and then I see, for our fault was but one. And now, undone, I wonder
how to bridge the gap of miles and miles we made. For our bricks of dead air and solum
silence seem so supporting of that distance. What words to I form twixt my lips to let you
know I ache for days and ways of compassion, that in remembrance I see you still as the
one whom ever held my eye. Never another has touched my heart. Never another has touched
my soul. And the one who has stands there in the same room with me, a world away.
Porch swing creak
cubes crack in moist glass
your knees brown from
the garden where
all day you worked
brushing and digging
through thinning layers until
up sprouts spring day
lawnmower scent trimmed
with peppermint growing down
by the back steps
you clip and crush, sprinkle over everything
water life lying under
staked out tomatoes to be
soon cut and mingled with your lettuce
wet and sweet
tines push gently into red softness
seeds sown mindfully
realize what thrives deep within me.