Death comes to me again, a girl in a cotton slip.Barefoot, giggling. It’s not so terrible, she tells me,not like you think: all darkness and silence. There are wind chimes and the scent of lemons.Some days it rains. But more often the airis dry and sweet. We sit beneath the staircasebuilt from hair and bone… Continue reading Dorianne Laux
I am working out the vocabulary of my silence. —Muriel Rukeyser, from “The Speed Of Darkness,” Out of Silence: Selected Poems (TriQuarterly Books, 1992)
‘What would you have words do?’ a poet asked me,‘and is it the same thing as what you would have your life do?’The sounds of their names in my memory:these things have passed through the air and are no more.Light, the queen of colors, in a hollow sanctuary.Yet—not an image, but something in its own… Continue reading Karl Kirchwey
… darkness is not everywhere – for here and there I find a few faces illuminated from within. Paper lanterns swaying among the dark trees. — Carol Anne Borges
Such slight changes in air pressure,tongue and palate,and the difference in teeth.Transparent words.Why do I want to say ochre,or what is green-yellow?The sisters of those leaves on the groundstill lisp in the branches.Why do I want to imitate them? Having come this farwith a handful of alphabet,I am forcedwith these few blocks,to invent the universe.… Continue reading Ruth Stone
There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve. ― William S. Burroughs
… This morning my lovewas briefly stuck in my throatas I remembered all the soiland sadness, remembered seeing youon certain streets and corners, rememberedall the rubble and the clang. Remember how it is and isn’t fragile?How it speaks in ears and fingerstakes days and hours and stillit wants nothing and it wants more? — Olena… Continue reading Olena Kalytiak Davis
Mental labels don’t define who I am, time and aging only gets me closer to those I love, will love, and have loved. — S.L. Cato, from “Hello May, Birthday month, musing on aging gracefully,” https://itsnotcrazytoday.com/2016/05/01/its-my-birthday-month-musing-on-aging-gracefully/ May 1, 2016
You know the answer and still I have to say it: Poetry has got nothing to do with poetry.Poetry is how the air goes green before thunder,is the sound you make when you come, andwhy you live and how you bleed, and The sound you make or don’t make when you die. — Gwendolyn MacEwen,… Continue reading Gwendolyn MacEwen
Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. ― Jerome K. Jerome, Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. (Mondial October 19, 2005) Originally published 1886.
The Vale of Soul-Making 