May 31, 2004
to tell the truth
The very first thing I tell my new students on the first day of a workshop is that good writing is about telling the truth. We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason they write so very little.
~ Anne Lamott
in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions for Writing and Life
May 21, 2004
confessions of an addict
j: i love him.
j: it is bad.
h: but he's dead
j: true
j: the travesty of my life is the lewis is dead.
j: but now he is saved to sin no more.
h: yes
j: my one small consolation.
h: yes
j: that and the espresso truffle i ate today helps to tide me over.
May 17, 2004
walk with me
Walk with me quiet, walk with me slow
With watered-down coffee, and words of gold
I can feel the edges of these things
When I hear you speak to me, so walk with me
Walk with me empty, walk with me strong
The hush of our voices, when the day seems so long
It is like a balm, it is like a jewel
It unravels all I thought I knew
Will you lead me, beside the still waters
Where the oil, it runs over, and my cup over flows
You restore my soul
Tell me the story, where old is made new
The promise of ages, and all things that are true
When the shadows fall and the wrecking ball
Swings and tears me through the heart
Walk with me ...
~ Sandra McCracken
May 16, 2004
May 14, 2004
doppio con panna
i love you madly
in the starbucks
cause the star luck's
what i'll have, see
i see friends
shakin hands
say'n how do you do
a little unfeigned
and partially true
the medleys they blare
as i stare at my book
hooked on lewis hums louie
what a billet they share
two-shots of dark harmony
the tandem of alchemy
constellations of pain
mixed with beauty and
skies of blue rain
they're really sayin
love me too
and no one will look
at my two shaking hands
or brush his cuffs through
all the whipped cream en route
to brush tears or to care
but these mornings are music
singing how do you do
to the providenced
ears since the ironic moon
and the stars still commune
on their red carpet plans
these mornings love madly
the metaphored jazz
the sound of a cupful
and i think to myself
what a rim-ring of moments
what a turn of events
what a wonderful world when
joy can't choose the blend
they're better concoctions
than i ever brew:
these mornings con panna
though they cut me in two
May 12, 2004
It is raining up...
...and sideways. I don't typically report on the weather, but we are undergoing a very light summer squall at the moment. In a matter of five minutes, the velvet mocha river has been transformed into a churlish latte. The raindrops are of such a consistency and the wind must be at just the right magnitude and velocity to ball up the drops and buoy them sideways and skyways -- erratically, like kernels in a popcorn popper, only these pop up against the windows and burst into water again. And now, before I can even finish typing this paragraph, all is back to normal.
May 11, 2004
May 08, 2004
May 07, 2004
dress-down friday for the seventh story
i got these sandals in wisconsin
the day i wore them first
i tripped a lot
especially on the left foot
but then again
i was walking with a boy
these jeans hail from south carolina
where kneeling under sky
is commonplace
especially under full moons
but then again
the novelty wanes in time
i wore this shirt in colorado
among the aspen leaves
i couldn't breathe
especially in high meadows
but then again
it might have been the fireworks
this bracelet flew from a congo town
where i have never flown
my arms get tired
especially in the holding
but then again
the circling stars expect me
i wish this were a magic wardrobe
to take me in and out
to anyplace
escort me tripping where the lands
lie further off
for love and courtesy
May 05, 2004
redlight greenlight moonlight gaslight brightlight
Ah Studio! We'll meet again.
It won't be gaslight in the lane,
But just as gentle, only brighter.
And Jack on Aslan's back.
We'll sing His glory
Around those two: One Love-truth.
Old world will give one final 'crack!'
Our hearts could not be lighter.
May 04, 2004
for what is said behind-backs
If I could come on meteorite!
Instead, I walk through damp leaves,
Husks, the spent flukes of autumn.
Imagining a hero
On some muddy compound,
His gift like a slingstone
Whirled for the desperate.
How did I end up like this?
I often think of my friends'
Beautiful prismatic counselling
And the anvil brains of some who hate me
As I sit weighing
My responsible tristia.
For what? For the ear? For the people?
For what is said behind-backs?
Rain comes down through the alders,
Its low conducive voices
Mutter about let-downs and erosions
And yet each drop recalls
The diamond absolutes....
~ Seamus Heaney
(an excerpt from "Exposure" as quoted in his Nobel Lecture, 7 December 1995)
May 01, 2004
i'm on my way from misery to happiness today
iii.
and yes, i know
of course i know that this is just a phase
and yes, i hope
of course i hope to see it turned to praise
i know my view
is all out of proportion
i'm sure it's skewed
by all of these emotions
but everyday
the traffic lights are yellow
and i can't wave
can't even mutter hello
i broke my train of thought
and can't take what i got
where is the morning, Lord?
still sitting on top of the world?