01 May

time leaves

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one day, when time leaves
snow will be warm
and the sun green.

the ancestors will return
and birth, painless.
knowledge drinkable
and love no longer for sale.

i will be the birds i envy.
they will walk in human skin.

when time leaves
i will understand the un-now
and know the meaning of living.

30 Apr

the cauldron

the moon waits for me.
i become the terpsichorean,
naked, fragile, unclothed in darkness.
my hips are my cauldron.
i stir.
i stir for the babies not yet conceived.
i stir for love and longing.
i stir for survival.
i wait for the moon.
and it waits for me.
i stir.

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27 Apr

the lonely road

The poem below by Frost is the life I’ve always lived, the road less traveled. It keeps me sane, even as it sometimes leaves me lonely in this world. Most times, lonely in a room filled with people.

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The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

26 Apr

i will go now

I read this piece by Yeats recently and it struck a cord.

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The Lake Isle of Innisfree
W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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