My, How the Words Rushed By!

Though they came at me they would not stop. “You will not pay attention,” they said. “You have been attending one stopping at the hospital,” they taunted. “Have you no respect!?” They arrived and fled in one motion. I caught and held one a moment, but it was “Rushed” and would not give even its … Continue reading My, How the Words Rushed By! →

To every Season Turn

Churn yearn spurn learn discern concern turn adjourn urn burn.

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carol

The Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll is a poem of warning. Perhaps there is an irony in it for us today, with our suspicions of the sort of person Carroll may have been. But, it is still a lovely, lively nonsense. For some reason, I read this poem as boy hero against an adult female monster, … Continue reading Jabberwocky by Lewis Carol →

When a Quartet of Quarters Does Not Answer

A quartet of quarters is a dollar. A dollar does not sing, although the coins ring when you drop them into a vagabond’s fiddle box. And if, under the long shadows and orange light of morning, that vagabond fiddle is joined by a rag-haired guitar, a withered old crone of a cello, and a quavery … Continue reading When a Quartet of Quarters Does Not Answer →

Religion Explained, or the Fates’ Apology

We began to weave before Eden. One spindled all the colors, of water, clay, and sunrise; one firmed the warp; another lanced the weft. We danced. And God (that dark anger) stepped into our sweet waltz with His Sinai stone word; yet how could we not dance our weave, and so wove such darkness—even mankind … Continue reading Religion Explained, or the Fates’ Apology →

Identical is Boooooring

Gerard Manly Hopkins' "The Wind Hover, To Christ Our Lord" This poem by Hopkins does not have the identical of a parable wherein we might find explanations; rather here we have the raw edges of ambiguity rubbing to reshape chaos to the will of a Maker.

146040 Bird by Dorianne Laux — American Life in Poetry

For days now a red-breasted bird has been trying to break in. She tests a low branch, violet blossoms swaying beside her, leaps into the air and flies straight at my window, beak and breast held back, claws raking the pane. Maybe she longs for the tree she sees reflected in the glass, but I'm… To … Continue reading 146040 Bird by Dorianne Laux — American Life in Poetry →