Pdlyons's Weblog“He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stone cutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.”
― Gabriel García Márquez
spring
no matter how much stuff, law, guns, money, strength you have – your fear will still run you. the courage to erase fear begins with space, the more space you give your self, the more space you give to others so they can be themselves. Space to relax, feel, do nothing, do something etc. space one size fits all – each and everyone of us. we have an abundance of mind space – the more we allow for ourselves and others, the less fear. the less fear the less suffering. if we are not afraid of losing our selves we can allow the possibility that the universe hold us all even those who disagree with us.
wadsworth atheneum,Hartford ct.
When I lost my mother I lost the past as well as future. No one would ever know me as well as she did and no one would ever remember me like she did – again. Today is Bastille Day. There are french songs as I pass through the NPR stations onto a local Italian show. After an immense bit of Italian speaking they play the theme from Zorba. My mother liked Zorba. My mother also liked the scene in Casablanca where they played La Marseillaise, as much as she liked the farewell scene – the airport fog a kiss a hill of beans the usual suspects. I wonder did she dance like Zorba once? Were there foggy farewell airport kisses in her life? If you watch Zoba can you be Zorba? Zorba envy or Zorba memory? Who knows. That was the past I lost as well as any possible future from which to ask when I lost my mother.
Briefly
as everything is in this life
we shared slapstick
and manic
some
unforgettable
wonders
and still all those questions never to be answered
now knowing this
something quiet
peace descends
a lacy feel of breath
not deep
not in or out
but
there
.
http://www.wptz.com/r/29858505/detail.html#.TtA7sWwwbYc.facebook
ESSEX JUNCTION, Vt. — Sad times for poetry lovers and Vermonters alike. Famous writer and former Vermont Poet Laureate Ruth Stone has passed away. She was 96.Stone wrote poems for decades but it wasn’t until she reached her 80s and 90s that she saw success. Now her books are sold in places nationwide, including bookstores in her own state, such as Phoenix Books in Essex Junction.
God Lights a Cigarette
On the wood, shadows. Down the
windows, hazy through the drapes
spills the rain. The night,
curving rolling with motion still
whispers with winters needley lips:
everything is passing through me.
There is you with your joy – me,
I’m trying to find depressions,
though I’m not sure what I feel.
You are magic mingling essences –
I am day dreaming on physical matters…
my lamp flickers with distress,
it moves the room with my voice:
help me
I’m drowning,
suffocating,
breathless…
*
To be born of your music,
in your magic my life blooms,
my thoughts, words – dissolve into
rich emotions tuned to immortality.
Lost in the lighting of a match,
in between the space and flame –
I become the sparkle in your eyes,
then I return…
Slowly I am returned,
I am the gold ring in your ear -
the unnoticed sensation.
You are cosmic and I am waiting
for the next match.
