There are many Wendell Berry poems that speak to me. A poem has been in mind for several days awaiting posting and comment. This one though takes precedence. There are times with life presents an inflection point, a point of decision forced by circumstances. To do nothing is also an action, but often one…
A Wendell Berry poem, 1988, II It is the destruction of the world in our own lives that drives us half insane, and more than half. To destroy that which we were given in trust: how will we bear it? It is our own bodies that we give to be broken, our bodies existing…
Yesterday, we went to Ninth Street to visit the Regulator Book Shop. It is a small independent place, offering a collection of books appealing to the literary community anchored by Duke University. Many of the older homes in the area have been re-purposed for small business use. The big old tobacco warehouse in the…
Return by Gala Mukomolova There are poets with history and poets without history, Tsvetsaeva claimed living through the ruin of Russia. Karina says disavow every time I see her. We, the daughters between countries, wear our mean mothers like scarves around our necks. Every visit, mine recounts all the wrongs done against her…
The snow lies deep, parking lots remain unplowed. The world has not ended in ice. Not yet. Not today. I am comforted by my customary warm cup of coffee with the green goddess Starbucks logo. Many worship at the altar of the green goddess. There are far worse religious obsessions. With this one, what…
Twitter salvos continue unabated. Talking points of both sides remain unchanged. Trenches are dug deeper, bunker support timbers are laid in. Phalanxes of lawyers prepare further assaults. All will die for honor and country, as the flag waves and the band plays on. The Superbowl is over and the Nation is late in its…
I finished reading the Gospel of John, all twenty-one chapters. Unlike the other three gospels this is not a copy and paste, vignettes of Jesus’s sayings and deeds. This is an esoteric interpretation of Jesus. He is human, but in a manner that defies the term ordinary. He has insight, access to the deep…
A friend sent this poem to me. I’ve read it before. Since the first reading several years have passed. Now the words evoke a more personal reality, something that could be autobiographical. I guess that is the whole point. A discussion of politics last night was passionate, mindful, with good insights being exchanged. This…
Strange the memories that present themselves in surprising detail. I remember falling in love with a Ford Mustang. It was 1965, my sophomore year in high school. An acquaintance who lived in the neighborhood was given a new Ford Mustang 2+2 fastback by his mother. It had a 289 ci motor and a four…
Heard this song on the radio yesterday. The lyrics keep coming back to me. I believe that it is much more than a simple love song. How difficult it is to make a pact with oneself to respect, to honor the integrity of one’s own one life. How difficult it is to accept ourselves,…
