“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little … Read the rest

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, … Read the rest

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth –

The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity –

… Read the rest

“Perspicacity is a penetrating discernment —a clarity of vision or intellect which provides a deep understanding and insight. It takes the concept of wisdom deeper in the sense that it denotes a keenness of sense and intelligence applied to insight. “… Read the rest

I’m in the audience, a dozen rows back from the stage. All eyes forward as David Byrne, grey hair, greyer suit and barefeet, sings “This Must Be the Place” while his deconstructed band dances around him. It’s a beautiful song.

“Never for money, always for love … ” And … Read the rest

Last night I took my daughter out trick or treating. I held the flashlight while she raced from house to house. Occasionally she’d hold my hand if she saw something scary – blinking eyes in the bushes, creepy mannequin propped up on the porch. We meet more friends and go … Read the rest

My brother calls and tells me he found two crates of CDs. “Stuff you’d like.” he says. It sounds like an accusation. I need CDs like I need a whole in my head, but I was intrigued.

A few weeks later, I attend my nephew’s birthday. We sing “Happy Birthday” … Read the rest

“…

Why do I think October is beautiful?
It is not, is not beautiful.
                                                  But then
what is there to hold one’s interest
between the various drifts of a day’s
work, but to search out the differences
                                          the window and grate—
but it is not, is not
beautiful.… Read the rest

The mountains call me. That looks like fun some say. It’s not … fun. It’s something else. Punishment and reward. Mastering the art of suffering. How badly do you really want something? I suffer to stand where few dare to venture. A view where the world opens up wide – … Read the rest

Every summer I send my daughter to camp. Two weeks alone in a woods filled with strangers. She had never been away from home for so long. The first year was hard. She was eleven.

To keep her spirits up and remind her she’s in my thoughts and heart always, … Read the rest