Scented Ink

signs

2005-05-15T17:10:00Z

Earlier, a slow child in the vicinity of a Slow Children sign, a boy just taking his time, his bookbag weighing him down, and now -- driving past Caution: Falling Rock Zone - an actual fallen rock right in the middle of the Interstate! I call 911,...

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Love poem

2005-05-05T17:46:00Z

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases, At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring, Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen, And have no cunning with any soft thing Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people: The refugee uncertain ...

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and even more quotes

2005-05-01T17:32:00Z

Nothing has happened until it's described. —Virginia Woolfe Keeping an open mind is important, but not so open that your brain falls out. —James Oberg, space engineer I am for those tiny invisible loving human forces that work from individual to...

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More quotes

2005-05-01T17:00:00Z

A cynic is one who is prematurely disappointed in the future. —Sidney J Harris The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true. —James Branch Cabell Reality is merely an illusion, albe...

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Quotes

2005-05-01T16:50:00Z

Our dreams must be stronger than our memories. We must be pulled by our dreams, rather than pushed by our memories. —Jesse Jackson Boredom is only another name for a certain species of frustration. — Susan Sontag If we don't believe in freedom ...

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Ordinary Life

2005-05-01T16:31:00Z

I applied once again for an ordinary life. I thought I had the skills, the prerequisites, the training to couple: advanced degrees, lemon meringue pie, caesar salad, the ability to fold napkins and flattery into pleasing shapes. I unwrapped...

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The woman was

2005-05-01T16:28:00Z

the woman was an envelope I unsealed her I read her contents the woman was paper I drew on her the woman was chalk I wrote her name the woman was a poem I memorized her lines the woman was potsherds I fit her together the woman was...

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Delirium

2005-04-26T20:40:00Z

The black snow runs down from the rooftops; A red finger dips into your brow; Blue snow flakes sink into the empty room, They are a lovers’ dying mirrors. Heavy and torn to pieces the mind muses, Follows the shadow in the mirror of blue snow ...

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They can't hear it. They don't listen to leaves ...

2005-04-26T20:39:00Z

They can't hear it. They don't listen to leaves in the moon light. The mystical whisper of branches rubbing. Funny what happens to a life when trees start talking to you. When you hear the voices of your garden. (Charles P. Ries)

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Where It Comes From

2005-04-26T20:38:00Z

There's a poem between your legs, & off at the corners of your eyes. You can't see it but suspect, feel it warm, moist at the center, pulling the world inside you. There's a poem in your hair: tangled today, & painful to comb through. One...

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