tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16731081437894228602024-03-05T22:47:59.473-08:00King Of Herbs"I contemplate a tree." ~Martin BuberLoishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-64977270535738735712014-10-01T20:58:00.001-07:002014-10-01T20:58:06.900-07:00BellaThe cat purred loudly with her belly upturned to the sun, and Bella rubbed the patch of off-white fluff, keeping a careful watch for that thinnest of moments when pleasure turned back on itself in a rage of claws and teeth. She no longer held against cats, this strange fury that came when pleasure seemed at its highest; instead, she began to see it in her own life - pleasure and fury. At least, she experienced something of the same outer manifestations, let the mystery of the cat's mind remain locked behind devilishly slit opal eyes.<br />
<br />
Mr. Van Zandt was her geometry teacher - a kind, wild-haired old man who was married to his wife in matching clown costumes on Halloween - and he enthused over geometry with the sort of giddiness appropriate for small children. But he was not a small child nor was she, a sophomore in high school.<br />
<br />
It was triangles that started it, her reciprocal giddiness. The way the sides would slide around and open and close the angles, all the while bound by the magic of 180 degrees. They were vivid; she could hear their movements, like great stone tombs closing, labyrinths of vines sliding, the booming and the slithering, boundedness and freedom. For the first time in her life, she loved math class. Proofs were almost intuitive; they were natural, common, seemed a part of her.<br />
<br />
Mr. Van Zandt called on her a couple of weeks ago; called on her to turn to a page of problems that had not been assigned and to solve the first proof at the bottom of the page. She ran her finger down the page to find it, words unseen as a triangle and circle intersected.<br />
<br />
"Forty-two" she said, "forty-two degrees."<br />
<br />
Then she realized she had answered as he had been assigning the next proof to Scott, who sat in front of her and smelled of farts. She had answered too quickly.<br />
<br />
Mr. Van Zandt paused, looked at his book, looked up at her. She could feel her heart beating, flushed with the joy of power, confidence, and above all, power. He stepped sideways to see her better around Scott.<br />
<br />
"And the next one?"<br /><br />A rhombus intersected by two line segments, were triangles BDF and ABC congruent?<br />
<br />
"No"<br /><br />"Are any?"<br />
<br />
"BDF is congruent with ACD."<br />
<br />
"The next proof, please?"<br />
<br />
The bell rang and the class stampeded out, carrying her with them, and as she sat in English for the next 50 minutes, ignoring <i>Silas Marner</i>, she trembled a bit with pride, with excitement, and then with fear. She has found her place in the sun, and she wanted to freeze this moment, never going back to geometry, always being victorious, and the more her soul wandered in this direction, the more she felt as though she must scheme to get out of next class, and the one after that and after that. He must never be allowed to question her again. What if she missed one? What if she forgot the formula or pi or, just, what if the magic didn't come? <br />
<br />
Panic tossed her baby bird heart against her chest. <br />
<br />
She heard her English teacher call her name.<br />"I DON'T KNOW, ALREADY!"<br />
<br />
<br />Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-15773282554994132262014-08-03T08:20:00.001-07:002014-08-03T08:22:52.392-07:00Tenuosity<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My soul sings, too,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
of the storm’s embrace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The roar of need, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the groan of passion – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
water for water – before which flies </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
inconsequential space</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and remnants of the daily pace:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
bags,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
paper,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the squeamish and the self-possessed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who will not be possessed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cup bounces, skitters, rolls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the ravishing begins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The winds </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are singing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to the thrashing grasses – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
touching, touching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The trees </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are bending, sending</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
old lives, false starts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
winging to the wind’s wild singing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earth meets Earth,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
sky on land,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
land in sky,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
gravity and wind, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Water to Water.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The streetlights flicker.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and silver curtains fall</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
on voyeurs </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who peer from the dry-side of a wall. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
But I’m out in it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My soul sings, too,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to the Song being sung.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God willing that I return</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the glory of the storm</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
from within who I am – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
become – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
return it to the one </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who is Song.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Song of storms, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but also wide skies,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
dark, glittering nights,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
impossible eternity</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
gaping overhead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m out in it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But again, not only Song of storms and skies,</div>
of worlds without end,
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
but Song of you,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my friend,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
lover,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you are sung;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you walk among these worlds,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
filling inconsequential spaces</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprisingly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I wrap you in my hopes,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
long stretched. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They tremble to hold what can finally be held.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hope is old;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
her hair loosed from tidy pins,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
falling silver.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her arms tremble to hold what can be held:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sung from the Song.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can honey drip from silver?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or darkness be filled with flame?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can the inconsequential quiver?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or the sun color the rain?</div>
Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-19979308911824000502014-02-08T11:29:00.001-08:002014-02-08T11:53:24.042-08:00Greens and GraffitiHuck Finn once pointed out to me that Heaven sounded like an awfully dull place - especially without Tom Sawyer - but, as a child coming to grips with death and the philosophy of nihilism, I was much too quick to dismiss Huck's claim as unimportant. Who cares if Heaven is boring? The question is whether or not it's there!<br />
<br />
But not too many years later, after passing through my first blush (or more like Vaudeville rouge) with angst, I began thinking and writing about stories and I realized that evil was necessary for the plot of every story I had read - at least up to that point in time.<br />
<br />
It disturbed me. <br />
<br />
If there's no evil in Heaven, are there no good stories there either? Do we really do nothing but sit around in white robes strumming harps all day? Indeed, Huck, how boring!<br />
<br />
It was C. S. Lewis (poor, overused C. S. Lewis!) who gave me the first hint of a new paradigm. In the final chapter of <i>The Last Battle</i>, we find the second most famous line of the Narnia Series (the first being "'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you"); that second most famous line, occurring in the space and time of the New Heaven and the New Earth reads "Come further up! Come further in!"<br />
<br />
Further up where? Further in what?<br />
<br />
Life.<br />
<br />
For life is full of challenges that have nothing to do with evil: skiing, biking, hang-gliding, river-running, stars to watch, cart-wheels, back-hands, flower-finding, and searching for the Sasquatch. You see, I'm young but I'm also old and I'm old enough to know now that I'm going to run out of time before the Cosmos runs out of possibilities.<br />
<br />
But I'm young enough to keep on living.<br />
<br />
And everyone is really both young and old at the same time - greens and graffiti - we all need them both.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_A7TIep47MRGDTdyoLDqaxOklc1-8hsYhQMFnjb_QBWJ1SaZ0W2gcAjcK1I4vOWatERwVLdOBlflBF0TLPLzwkxLHCii6_Z0D44JRC29PmNfM0JiPoIjEYyvMk2PEcGA2YKsg0xqMaQ/s1600/SP1NACH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_A7TIep47MRGDTdyoLDqaxOklc1-8hsYhQMFnjb_QBWJ1SaZ0W2gcAjcK1I4vOWatERwVLdOBlflBF0TLPLzwkxLHCii6_Z0D44JRC29PmNfM0JiPoIjEYyvMk2PEcGA2YKsg0xqMaQ/s1600/SP1NACH.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In this present time and place, there is brokenness to heal and lies to destroy; we are called to <a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/432806/february-04-2014/pussy-riot-pt--1" target="_blank">"sing a fun song in a church"</a> even if it gets us thrown in jail, and to this good work I turn with thankfulness, if also, at times, with trembling. But in the midst of this, my identity remains centered on life - life that is fun in its artistic challenges, its athletic accomplishments, its musical performances, its wondering conversations, its loves, its hopes, its SP1NACH gangs - its margaritas last night and Hollandaise sauce in the morning.<br />
<br />
Life is fun.<br />
<br />
What is life?<br />
<br />
<i>I am the way, the truth, and life...</i>Oh, the mystery!Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-69422125198581386142014-02-01T10:29:00.002-08:002014-02-01T10:30:22.818-08:00SelfieSelfie.<br />
<br />
1. Remember to position the phone slightly above you to create a more slimming photo.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvc4Rap9iRGhFCy2-GIDXQoUJhb8Q8hVmtWU5RH9XK8xT0CCV1nPgdlkx_cF47KcOYjr0IJIoEErQR7_qB9y8DAiVTdpYtZYy7NCWVNpcGjILH8PbSuTRRKmXWKDQRkv63RK7pzSeN1o/s1600/Selfie+Silly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvc4Rap9iRGhFCy2-GIDXQoUJhb8Q8hVmtWU5RH9XK8xT0CCV1nPgdlkx_cF47KcOYjr0IJIoEErQR7_qB9y8DAiVTdpYtZYy7NCWVNpcGjILH8PbSuTRRKmXWKDQRkv63RK7pzSeN1o/s1600/Selfie+Silly.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
2. Always maintain irony while attempting sexy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1Xvr2OJYuHQdj_Wgwb0DIpn_dyoh28KKkegKKU2f663WzJPcZzZVUGKUX6_Q_Gp_RQHyvcnV2YXeeoS14_jvdIxxm1a2o0dhU2scEN0aqDuOpFfBP7z_saRvCbztf4NZzxKQfLJFrHo/s1600/Selfie+Sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1Xvr2OJYuHQdj_Wgwb0DIpn_dyoh28KKkegKKU2f663WzJPcZzZVUGKUX6_Q_Gp_RQHyvcnV2YXeeoS14_jvdIxxm1a2o0dhU2scEN0aqDuOpFfBP7z_saRvCbztf4NZzxKQfLJFrHo/s1600/Selfie+Sexy.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
3. And remember, you can tell a horse's age by its teeth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklWv6oRX7bFfWkARq9zL8NAP_J-iYCTa8_R5HJc0_hRTDRV2SDbjsNrtdRGCCqyBQ6f6R96t2pft5EQ9133CTmDa32_v-CMVPYC4cm1x6wkV3ZMoQlhpcIQPmqdJl44zmQA0WJMz-v34/s1600/Selfie+Smiley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklWv6oRX7bFfWkARq9zL8NAP_J-iYCTa8_R5HJc0_hRTDRV2SDbjsNrtdRGCCqyBQ6f6R96t2pft5EQ9133CTmDa32_v-CMVPYC4cm1x6wkV3ZMoQlhpcIQPmqdJl44zmQA0WJMz-v34/s1600/Selfie+Smiley.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-9964637561078629272011-08-25T18:58:00.001-07:002011-08-25T18:59:35.925-07:00Who Is The Least Among You?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">“Whatever you do to the least of these – </div><div class="MsoNormal">(And lists of least will rarely please for</div><div class="MsoNormal">looking close you'll likely see</div><div class="MsoNormal">you</div><div class="MsoNormal">alongside bumblebees.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Whatever you do to the least of these,</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’ve done it unto me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Said Jesus and the bumblebees.</div>Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-81598327629705445572011-08-19T19:15:00.000-07:002011-08-19T19:15:29.747-07:00Holy Mole!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdq5YFqRblo1KQKphG_Ces3DZxNNgEprRhaNM6sKX0nWRpdTeaOoobgws5Yq5BT5h6uLhp3dQbKl_edp62FEcqCY3ILXAWAKfL1IqBx9s3DTlrx9tz5KUCoKAF1BAyEfG-cULLMCiNWhs/s1600/Chinese+Garlic+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdq5YFqRblo1KQKphG_Ces3DZxNNgEprRhaNM6sKX0nWRpdTeaOoobgws5Yq5BT5h6uLhp3dQbKl_edp62FEcqCY3ILXAWAKfL1IqBx9s3DTlrx9tz5KUCoKAF1BAyEfG-cULLMCiNWhs/s320/Chinese+Garlic+%25282%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>This here is garlic from China;<br />
it's just like the stuff we grow here -<br />
kinda.Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-1171971582854349652011-08-03T08:59:00.000-07:002011-08-03T08:59:23.095-07:00Wordless Wednesday: I'm Brilliant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVY_tcx3yJgCWkCGJEJy7lY8BCcD2d_L2LaU2bVNOst6Bf6rZEdLqzuKinKnyliqQCZPjQG4HUWS34r2nfHXjovpEXGz9_DqrDIW5tsmTnsjju_jh4N_axiT8it6NOj9w7lwlXJ5VIeQ/s1600/Wordless+Wednesday+August+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVY_tcx3yJgCWkCGJEJy7lY8BCcD2d_L2LaU2bVNOst6Bf6rZEdLqzuKinKnyliqQCZPjQG4HUWS34r2nfHXjovpEXGz9_DqrDIW5tsmTnsjju_jh4N_axiT8it6NOj9w7lwlXJ5VIeQ/s320/Wordless+Wednesday+August+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-10128149526689158932011-07-29T09:48:00.000-07:002011-07-29T20:06:28.945-07:00Psalm 139:12<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrQ6AZLD3x10x7YCZQ-r7Q6BO0rN4UEqzQFuTV9E-hIsGo591Yk1oY9HdeOBwbqayccl-5g8UQuT3paDtZD-TmZkOjS4QfO5HF2mJ1Y5ZPA5ETOBUpWZN2OT-UC5fiOFvoWNoDcGbcz8/s1600/Begonia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrQ6AZLD3x10x7YCZQ-r7Q6BO0rN4UEqzQFuTV9E-hIsGo591Yk1oY9HdeOBwbqayccl-5g8UQuT3paDtZD-TmZkOjS4QfO5HF2mJ1Y5ZPA5ETOBUpWZN2OT-UC5fiOFvoWNoDcGbcz8/s200/Begonia.jpg" width="200" /></a>Last night I slept on my porch,<br />
I did!<br />
In a lawn chair,<br />
in the rain,<br />
I was there;<br />
a raccoon came!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhitBKuRnP5ZO9Rd-xjJDHBN4GWI01mQTUGDTncJY3mVlTpk6FGCNAETN6M4NjKZz_vaYhCAWvMqnLsfnAqGhMayio7XYvoGzLcgDKYzVwmXh9Y4qB-c3cz466sW8yi0yNNS7zveJ1DFA8/s1600/PorchRain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhitBKuRnP5ZO9Rd-xjJDHBN4GWI01mQTUGDTncJY3mVlTpk6FGCNAETN6M4NjKZz_vaYhCAWvMqnLsfnAqGhMayio7XYvoGzLcgDKYzVwmXh9Y4qB-c3cz466sW8yi0yNNS7zveJ1DFA8/s320/PorchRain.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
The fireflies twinkled beneath <br />
the leaves<br />
of the Walnut<br />
and the Ash -<br />
small, green huts -<br />
as raindrops splashed, <br />
<br />
and I was not afraid <br />
at all,<br />
for in darkness<br />
and with rain,<br />
the heavens kiss <br />
our world, reclaim!Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-44156734820355645192011-07-28T15:57:00.000-07:002011-07-28T15:57:43.649-07:00Wordless Thursday: Cat In A Bowl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHOVu7FiLm6pHSGXOUfbKPAHTKCiWfAGITi24j2hgKrQiKpKzWa3dJK0i1si6v_NDJ2NPaMW1qbVu3_h5aoHtbx1yZeO91oQLd5Z8LGKN5UdHKm16Z6XffAFCafmHLtjUtWaTy312tfc/s1600/Cat+In+A+Bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHOVu7FiLm6pHSGXOUfbKPAHTKCiWfAGITi24j2hgKrQiKpKzWa3dJK0i1si6v_NDJ2NPaMW1qbVu3_h5aoHtbx1yZeO91oQLd5Z8LGKN5UdHKm16Z6XffAFCafmHLtjUtWaTy312tfc/s320/Cat+In+A+Bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-85792928377957666402011-07-28T15:52:00.000-07:002011-07-30T07:54:38.758-07:00Wordless Wednesday: Raindrops<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbdCK6moqHPm9gvoL97rabBkPloPjQfdht_toQYoLfvhW6LQCCe_5CehCnNwlcdEL-MCWV5sfFB2XVcEFesnv4B6_OGwN8rShy5SSdZu-JaE24rfjhCvLIlHxNSgn_IsGvGfszG0eVE4/s1600/Wordless+Wednesday+July+27+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbdCK6moqHPm9gvoL97rabBkPloPjQfdht_toQYoLfvhW6LQCCe_5CehCnNwlcdEL-MCWV5sfFB2XVcEFesnv4B6_OGwN8rShy5SSdZu-JaE24rfjhCvLIlHxNSgn_IsGvGfszG0eVE4/s320/Wordless+Wednesday+July+27+2011.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-82891635713107505312011-07-26T07:27:00.001-07:002011-07-29T14:03:15.642-07:00Regular PeopleShe looks like Geena Davis<br />
after a year of eating normal,<br />
and she smiles an oversized smile<br />
at the red-headed girl at her table,<br />
<br />
while the women at the next table<br />
talk Harry Potter and politics<br />
and take a reasoned approach<br />
to the Bible and the deficit .Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-81212218329011086122011-07-25T16:17:00.000-07:002011-07-25T19:57:21.688-07:00HuntingI am raven; I am dove.<br />
Fly to and fro<br />
in search of Earth.<br />
<br />
[ ]<br />
<br />
World moves; dead sway.<br />
Pale-skinned, wide-eyed<br />
'neath weight of gray<br />
<br />
Water.<br />
<br />
Soup broth makes dead fish,<br />
dead men, dead hen,<br />
dead chicks one dish.<br />
<br />
Wish<br />
<br />
For one green leaf.<br />
Grief across thief<br />
without belief.<br />
<br />
Tree<br />
<br />
Dead. Rock alive.<br />
Olive branch -<br />
I see, I dive.Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-76757498012275193552011-07-23T13:09:00.001-07:002011-07-23T13:29:05.825-07:00Twist<div class="MsoNormal">I call Indigo the world’s most luxurious, most mysterious color – and even more so when riding on texture. I call textured Indigo Isaiah’s waters covering the sea. And she walked in on twin suede shoes cut from the cloth of night; even the fabric twist across the toe was but the demise of a star - its last breath exhaled like stardust wings beating in space. Does she know that she wears the foreshadowing of the Author? I am reminded that I breathe in the universe. Twist. I breathe out.</div>Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-69744264307029655782011-07-21T09:47:00.000-07:002011-07-21T09:47:53.970-07:007:55 PMI try to drive home by seven fifty-five<br />
to keep all the fireflies<br />
and moths and nightbugs<br />
alive.Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-52039401497479142742011-07-18T19:06:00.000-07:002011-07-18T21:18:12.570-07:00DarkDark is the morning, <br />
the morning I wake <br />
wrapped with wet roses <br />
that hold and then break.<br />
They water my feet<br />
and plant by the lake<br />
my toes and my soul; <br />
tie my heart to this stake! <br />
<br />
And voices in tongues inner darkness denies<br />
approve on the dark rolling plains in the sky.Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1673108143789422860.post-19728518044966763262011-07-16T10:01:00.000-07:002011-07-16T14:10:14.161-07:00Why I WriteLife is potatoes, and I like it spicy;<br />
Words are like herbs,<br />
Creative and dicey.<br />
<br />
You say potato, and I say dill.<br />
I'm making meaning<br />
By words and by will,<br />
<br />
But that doesn't mean I just do whatever<br />
'Cause chocolate and 'taters<br />
Is a hopeless endeavor.Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11470073384293339063noreply@blogger.com4