Even hundredfold grief is divisible by love.
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@Risk
Life is like running with scissors
naked through freezing blizzards
Inkdreaming
the smell of ink is
intoxicating to me —
others may have wine
but I have poetry
A Teeny-Tiny Ghost Story
My parents used to read this story to my brothers and me when we were in grade school — after dark, in scary voices. I loved it! The book set that the story is in eventually ended up in their attic for many years, but today we came across it while cleaning and those cherished childhood memories have now come to live on my bookshelves.
“TEENY-TINY”
Reprinted from James Orchard Halliwell, Esq., “Fireside Nursery Stories,” Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales: A Sequel to the Nursery Rhymes of England, 1849.
This simple tale seldom fails to rivet the attention of children, especially if well told. The last two words should be said loudly with a start. It was obtained from oral tradition, and has not, I believe, been printed.
Once upon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman lived in a teeny-tiny house in a teeny-tiny village. Now, one day this teeny-tiny woman put on her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny way, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a teeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to her teeny-tiny self, “This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny soup for my teeny-tiny supper.” So the teeny-tiny woman put the teeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her teeny-tiny house.
Now when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was a teeny-tiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her teeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which said, “Give me my bone!” And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes, and went to sleep again. And when she had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the teeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder, “Give me my bone!” This made the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And when the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard said again a teeny-tiny louder, “Give me my bone!” And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of the teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice,
I accept you
Okay — I give in — I accept you — Middle Age
I am tired — I want to sit down — unrushed —
to read — and drink hot tea — and — Breathe
the number of years behind me — and ahead of me —
no longer concern me — mathematically or emotionally
I have come to rest in the sturdy arms of the Present —
where Time has been waiting for me — my whole Life
Clarity of breath
The wisest one-word sentence? Breathe.
O! ¿queso what?
What are flowers without the bees,
What of grasses without the breeze?
Nothing the wind if not for the trees,
Nada la quesadilla sin el cheese.
Girl-heart
her smiling girl-heart danced
behind the grey, grey hair
scrambled blackout poetry created from Enid Bagnold,
Fallen
Has man fallen?
You, man, arise…
—James Oppenheim, “1914—And After,” War and Laughter, 1916
Midair
poets swing too high
until the chain kinks
and snaps
the
fall
is
poetry
Sepulturæ
Our bodies are the burial grounds of dead time.
“Time! where didst thou those years inter
Which I have seene decease?” —Wm. Habington
Seek & find
“Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.”
—Frank Herbert, Chapterhouse: Dune, 1985
Olvidando
i am growing old —
many leaves of my memory
have yellow’d and fallen —
so that i am beginning to have
many secrets from myself —