Blog 2014

Memorial, Senator Paul Wellstone

Transforming the energy of anger....

An Aside

I think until my last breath....

This Drift of Wood

She made a private joke to me once, questioning any building called a condominium.  That was pretty funny for a conservative Norwegian in her eighties....

One-Liners

There is no arrival.  There is only the ongoing journey.

If Nature Should Determine the Time

 

Wen-siang was a refugee, in exile, wandering and writing after the invasion of the Mongol tribes.  I find the contemporary feel of his poems chilling when I consider how quickly we have approached ruination, and how sadly we have misused our human[e] capacity via industrialization….  

Bien sur: Que sais-je?

 

I look for signs of transformation.  I don’t know what is real in such a moment.  What I see.  What I wish.  What I believe....

If Wall Is Skin

 

I looked around at the new home.  It seemed lighter, less heavy, and entirely uninhabited by any form of provocative presence.  I went back to the old house.  Empty, it held all morbidity.  The heaviness of all form of stain framed its essence, drawing the brightness of Day down into phantom shadow and sense....

 

The Long Climb Is With Me

I look out on the water.  I look into the past.  I look out at the water.  My mind revisits an inescapably haunting image I’d recently seen, a montage of a mountain peak, so jagged, so un-scalable even with the foreground path leading to it—impossible actuality—yet metaphorically: What? 

The Name I Seek

In any small, country cemetery there is nothing but to see headstones; headstones and flowers, some of which are plastic, some dried-up in neglected pots.  Oh: and flags.  Post-Memorial Day, many, many flags….   

A Parable of Honey

Not much to think about.  Just a little parable of honey.

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