Feathers did not evolve for flight
as every chicken knows, flight
came to be from feathers– the
archaeologists have clearly shown. And
the chicken, they did conclude at last,
first burst from the egg; much later
she found and crossed her road.
What If We Mined It All?
Today I encountered three stories of the displacement of indigenous peoples and environmental destruction in the name of progress. The first was from a talk by Arundhati Roy given at Northwestern University on March 18 called Reimagining the World.
My Ballot Choices for May 21 Special Election
It’s really hard to believe that, here in the 21st century, we still vote by filling in dots on a piece of heavy paper. Remember to use a pen (blue or black ink only), and of course your vote won’t count if you either don’t fill in the oval completely, or G-d forbid, go outside the line!
The Upper Right Edge
There are some parts of the world
Where writing begins at the upper right edge
For those who know how to write.
My Poetry Refuses Words Today
We meet
only in the humming of the wind in my ears
the smell of winter fog
and the contours of a face,
ever changing with my changing thoughts.
My poetry refuses words today.
Doorway
Hello how are you do I really care
The language changes but the question’s still there
Spare a quarter, a dime a minute of your time
Have you ever hung a sign degrading what little is left of your mind
Get Lit at the Beach, Cannon Beach
Gathering, surrounded by, story writers, story tellers and story readers is like bathing in lavender salts — lingering into contentment, absorbing a lifestyle, humming.
The Burial Ground, After the Battle
The dead are lined up according to size and type,
as neatly arranged as clothing in a drawer,
records on a shelf,
bullets in a chamber.
A quiescent machine waits to lift them,
its steel mouth clamping one, nipping at mossy skin
and flaccid lichens.
Iron-clad Memories
I was working in a fairly large Engineering office in Portland when Thatcher was first elected in 1979. The Vice-President walked over to my drafting station with the chuckling remark –“Hey Scotty, I see you’ve finally got a good, REPUBLICAN prime Minister”! I’ll spare you my curt and expletive-laced response but use yer imaginations.
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Little and Big: a story about a town
Once upon a time there was a little town by a big ocean. It was a wise little town. Long ago it had looked at its dunes and beaches, its big trees, its marsh where the red-wing blackbirds sang, its little streets and little grey shingle shops and houses, and said: This is all good.
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