"So is it study or is it art?" The first is a wick drawn by a practiced hand, straight through wax. Patience dipped again and again to fill out a candle's form, layer on layer for length, strength and stability. There is dedication in study, repeated practice like a mantra, mastery a form of devotion. You give yourself and …
Somewhere in between acquaintance and friend I asked why?, and she answered: I survived cancer. It was some years ago, she said, a decade now without another challenge. I counted back: how young! And the thought dissolved – as some thoughts do – becoming a gentle interior rain, washing down to common ground, what is …
entre lágrima e sal seca sal, sol que seca entre chuva e a mão horas, memórias que dá a lágrima como chuva cai cámera lenta, amor ví o rosto de espelho na sua joía líquida descendo como raío doa sal, olho que olha de luz de dor de benção que faz fechar as mãos …
a river doesn’t practice how to flow it lets go from the instant it was born and falls into the arms of its bed its being wells up against what you or I would call an obstacle and melts around it if you think you are dammed up, well ask your breath for a word …
Was there not a flower found its sun through simple blossoming? I thought that's how it's done ignore the driven wooden root, ignore the thorn's intent instead, invest in feminine receipt and open petals, welcome summer's heat. Was there a flower couldn't find the sun through simple blossoming? Its wooden nail is buried in the …
This weekend, 60 people gathered to celebrate the art of love – as expressed in the gentle and sweet music of Enid Ames, modern musician and composer of southern New Hampshire, and in the words of Jelalludin Rumi, b 1207 in what was then the eastern margin of the Persian Empire, and what is now …
The back of the Canadian $10 note bears the motto "In Service of Peace", and below it, a poem. Although Lieut. Col. John McRae had been a doctor for years, and had served in the South African War, he could never dull himself to the suffering, the screams, and the blood, and had seen and …
Under the gauze of midnight, where the mirrored starlight wanes boughs of the aging branches range in the city's floodlit lanes like the arms of assembled sentinels, who saluted you as you came then recruited the shadows in your wake to softly repeat your name Softly they hold your name, my love, as a breeze …
" Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's …
Circle of golden sunlight and at its margin, shadow; obscuring body of midnight and of its limbs, meadow if I walk from one place I find the road leads to the other I loved the easy glance of youth and tried all ways to keep it: circle of golden sunlight we’re dancing …
Beautiful in its glory, the mask as thin as gossamer as fragile as the mist rolls in, as vagueness is its glory; the child leaves the hospital without a mark upon her but the cipher of her living is the mark she carries in her and she staggers as though broken, she's the standing-stone forever: …
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry –the best gesture of my brain …