Friday, December 17, 2010

in the ground

1 of 6

2 of 6

Monday, November 1, 2010

Sunday, October 10, 2010


Be passion
and compassion
there was nothing left for lust

And in this once
forgotten room
                                                           bodies whisper away the dust

The Map

Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?

The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador's yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
--the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.

Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves' own conformation:
and Norway's hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
--What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West.
More delicate than the historians' are the map-makers' colors.

 Elizabeth Bishop

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Monday, September 13, 2010

In the Lost and Found

intimacies and lost connections
lost hope and lost intentions
forgotten pasts
remembered fractions
lost and found
found attractions
                         ("IN DREAR-NIGHTED DECEMBER")
                                 by John Keats


        In drear-nighted December,
            Too happy, happy tree,
        Thy branches ne'er remember
            Their green felicity:
          The north cannot undo them,
          With a sleety whistle through them;
          Nor frozen thawings glue them
              From budding at the prime.


        In drear-nighted December,
            Too happy, happy brook,
        Thy bubblings ne'er remember
            Apollo's summer look;
          But with a sweet forgetting,
          They stay their crystal fretting,
          Never, never petting
              About the frozen time.


        Ah! would 'twere so with many
            A gentle girl and boy!
        But were there ever any
            Writh'd not of passed joy?
          The feel of not to feel it,
          When there is none to heal it,
          Nor numbed sense to steel it,
              Was never said in rhyme.

                        THE END

Sunday, August 29, 2010


Tuesday, August 3, 2010

i love you as i love...


Monday, August 2, 2010

morning light

Its just passed dawn
And already, you’ve closed your eyes
What is it your so afraid of seeing

The sun will set in its own time
It stopped caring if your eyes were closed long before you were born
Try and wake up again


I want to think absolutely nothing of you
your lips meaningless

the places they have touched
and were only meant for you
never felt
the words, that played with your tongue

I want your eyes to never see me
so I will never see you
and remember to forget
for you have never touched me
and I have never felt

summer skies and joy rides


Wednesday, June 30, 2010


So listen to this fleeting world:
A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.

-Diamond Sutra

Monday, June 28, 2010

Which is worth more, a crowd of thousands,
or your own genuine solitude?
Freedom or power over an entire nation?

A little while alone in your room
will prove more valuable than anything else
that could ever be given you.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


Sunday, June 13, 2010

beautiful new exhibit.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

cubic meter of space

Imagine a cubic meter of space: empty it of your conception of that space: what you are then left with is like death.
-Jean Berger

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

childhood wild flowers:

queen anne's lace/ daucus carota


by: Aphra Behn

LOVE in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he showed,
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurled;
But 'twas from mine, he took desire,
Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the god have armed,
And set him up a deity;
But my poor heart alone is harmed,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.

Monday, May 24, 2010


Sunday, May 23, 2010

Breakfast Song

My love, my saving grace,
your eyes are awfully blue.
I kiss your funny face,
your coffee-flavored mouth.
Last night I slept with you.
Today I love you so
how can I bear to go
(as soon I must, I know)
to bed with ugly death
in that cold, filthy place,
to sleep there without you,
without the easy breath
and nightlong, limblong warmth
I've grown accustomed to?
—Nobody wants to die;
tell me it is a lie!
But no, I know it's true.
It's just the common case;
there's nothing one can do.
My love, my saving grace,
your eyes are awfully blue
early and instant blue.

-Elizabeth Bishop

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

If you are a poet...

If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud, there will be no rain; without rain, the trees cannot grow; and without trees, we cannot make paper. The cloud is essential for the paper to exist. If the cloud is not here, the sheet of paper cannot be here either. So we can say that the cloud and the paper inter-are. "Interbeing" is a word that is not in the dictionary yet, but if we combine the prefix "inter-" with the verb "to be," we havea new verb, inter-be. Without a cloud and the sheet of paper inter-are. If we look into this sheet of paper even more deeply, we can see the sunshine in it. If the sunshine is not there, the forest cannot grow. In fact, nothing can grow. Even we cannot grow without sunshine. And so, we know that the sunshine is also in this sheet of paper. The paper and the sunshine inter-are. And if we continue to look, we can see the logger who cut the tree and brought it to the mill to be transformed into paper. And wesee the wheat. We now the logger cannot exist without his daily bread, and therefore the wheat that became his bread is also in this sheet of paper. And the logger's father and mother are in it too. When we look in this way, we see that without all of these things, this sheet of paper cannot exist. Looking even more deeply, we can see we are in it too. This is not difficult to see, because when we look at a sheet of paper, the sheet of paper is part of our perception. Your mind is in here and mine is also. So we can say that everything is in here with this sheet of paper. You cannot point out one thing that is not here-time, space, the earth, the rain, the minerals in the soil, the sunshine, the cloud, the river, the heat. Everything co-exists with this sheet of paper. That is why I think the word inter-be should be in the dictionary. "To be" is to inter-be. You cannot just be by yourself alone. You have to inter-be with every other thing. This sheet of paper is, because everything else is. Suppose we try toreturn one of the elements to its source. Suppose we return the sunshine to the sun. Do you think that this sheet of paper will be possible? No, without sunshine nothing can be. And if we return the logger to his mother, then we have no sheet of paper either. The fact is that this sheet of paper is made up only of "non-paper elements." And if we return these non-paper elements to their sources, then there can be no paper at all. Without "non-paper elements," like mind, logger, sunshine and so on, there will be no paper. As thin as this sheet of paper is, it contains everything in the universe in it.

-The Heart of Understanding
Thich Nhat Hanh

Seconds in a Breath

In a world so full of boundaries, how do lines we use to segregate and define really come into play?

There are, and will always be, divisions. The division created by shared pasts, and shared memories. Who and how we see ourselves and how we define our communities is not just in shared languages, histories, arts and cultures, but also in the shared omitting of ideas, thoughts, beliefs, and sometimes truth.

Which is a more honest representation of a value; what one chooses to exclude or include?

Scarred faces
Rocky giants
Silent waves caress you
At the edge of things

thought patterns
Close my mouth
and my ears

to the sounds of the earth

Let our bodies feel our thoughts
and let my touch

speak volumes,
in this moment