Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Stethoscope By Anne Winter

Like Helen's comet, bending on its tail,
You curl beneath the black cup on mu skin:
I guess at limbs in half-eclipse, obscure
and fluent as a distant telegram.
Unworldly, small, sealed orders, darkroom heat,
Soon among the signals pulsed, the static whoosh,
arrives in distant thuds your rapider than human
heartbeat-gender unknown-but eyes-
Yet of our world you only know the tree
you lie beneath, its root your belly, fronds
and villi falling in the sunken lake
of capillaries, bubbles, breathing bonds...
I sigh, and somewhere you incline your vast
night-sighted brow-
your jointed, swimming hands-

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Attention By Kay Ryan

As strong as
the suction cups
on the octopus
are the valves
of the attention.
If threatened
or pulled off
they leave welts
and pink rings.
but also
can unstick
from things.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Percy Cowherd

Who is astir in the early morning?
Who lies abed?
Who wastes the milk when it sours?
Who makes cheese?
Who nosed around my barns
and almost broke me?
Who forced me into the trust,
and thereby saved me?
What made Chicago?
The kick of a cow!
All the big milk-men
up there now,
In a skyscraper, Gentlemen, see
I learned about everything
Just through milk.
and why compare it to human kindness?
Because it is watered or sours or contains
germs that fatigue you? Look at that grave-That's Roscoe Purkapile's!

GOOGLE.COM,  people around the world, mathematicians, administrators, writers, musicians, ...

Monday, December 3, 2012

The Girl Opening Up

like a rose in May,
the girl opening up.
Morning dew on greenest leaves,
soft breeze kisses
the crispy air in the garden.
New roof, shining grey, young grass,
full of energy.
Blonde hair curls like a staircase,
and it lays out like layered staircase,
and it is novel staircase.
The girl opening up,
closing her windows.
And she opens her door,
she walks out, knows it's a sunny morning.

In the Greenroom By Donald Justice

How reassuring
to discover them
in the greenroom, Here.
Relaxing, they drop
the patronynics
by which we had come.
To know them, the cross
are no more cross,
The old dance, not have
the young sacrificed
their advantages
in this it is like
a kind of heaven
they rise to simply
by being themselves.
The sound of the axe
Biting the wood is
Rewound on the tape
What is this green for
if not renewal?

Saturday, November 17, 2012


 Do or don't you
feel the inbalances
nestled in your confused moments?
You sense the stress
in your chest when
the airplane taxes,
with increasing speed
and rapid changes of height,
A slant is always the way
to reinforce completeness
at the term of conflicts.
It could be stress,
due dates, biases, arguments,
or things that divergent...
Life grows
behind some arbitrary losses..

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Carrier of the Dream Wheel By N. Scott Momaday

This is the wheel of dreams
which is carried on their voices,
By means of which their voices turn
and center upon being.
It encircles the First World,
This powerful wheel.
They shape their songs upon the wheel,
and spin the names of the earth and sky,
The aboriginal names,
They are old men or men
who are withering in their voices,
and they carry the wheel among the camps,
Saying: Come, come,
Let us tell the old stories,
let us sing the sacred songs.

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Energy Cycles In Me!

Energy comes
after a full time rest,
The body exhausts itself
when one spends hours,
thinking, writing, typing,
and mental laboring...
Days and nights,
Ups and downs,
These are part of us
and we do love the tides
of waves,
Long distance traveling will
refresh us through
3 or 4 times each year.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Infinite By Michael Makowsky

The infinite knows neither bounds nor form,
Its whereabouts range from sky to worm;
The infinitesimal atom is home,
For the infinite has everywhere to roam.
It dwells in the heart as eternal silence.
And for its secret it asks no recompense;
The inhabitant's soul is its resting place
where it occupies the room of limitless space.
In the beginning it did not have an end;
Mathematicians found that it would not bend;
Someone once tried hard and gave it a name,
While Alice just called it all "a great big game."
Chasing the Great white Rabbit beneath the sod,
Humans there discover the Impersonal God,
As an intuition that "all are the same",
Lo and behold-the feeding has no name!
The infinite is like a beautiful peach,
Whose sweetness is far, far beyond speech.
O, we shall never ever know
From where it does come or where it does go.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Lunch (Wu Yan)

Kids' playground, parents,
Happy meals, small toys, noises,
Sunday lunch, sandwiches.
October weekend,
Movies with friends, good time spent,
popcorn, juice, laughter.
Cell phone, text message,
Computer, online games,
Students, school, and homework!
Principals, teachers,
Agendas, block schedules,
Teach and learn, God Bless!

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Gourd As Vegetables

Hard shelled, juice meat,
Growth made underground, what fate?
Gourd is earthly treat.
Following the drinking gourd,
Act balanced and fairly,
Carry faith in God.
It's an apt creation
when folks turn gourd shells into
drinking cups, high five.
Some gourd is green veg.,
Cooked ones taste like fresh squash,
it's called bottle gourd.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Evil By Robert J. Norton

A web was spun by a spider,
That circled the world around,
And when man scarched for the creature,
it was no where to be found.
The web was a snare of evil,
Man could not escape its sin,
But the search for the deadly spider,
Was a vain and hopeless thing.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Inner Thoughts-Sandstone 9/19/1972 By Paul E. Paige

I'm not an ever-constant flow;
Times I push when I need to slow,
Times I hang on when I need to let go,
Times I stop when I need to go.
Times I'm not sure where to go,
And I'm hesitant when I don't know
where i am or where to go,
I struggle with myself, you know.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Passing By Steven Schnider

To know too much destroys the wonder
of the world through which we blunder;
With the knowledge of the thunder
of the rain,
and beauteous flowers,
That spread without refrain.
So seek the other powers,
For our living, breathing hours
so willingly wane.