I see the mermaids, my friends, who do not sing to me, instead sing only to each other in the secret tongue of those who belong to something, even if it is only the sea. M M Locker – Posted from my iPhone

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.  “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.  One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”The grandson thought about it for a minute  and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”The old Cherokee simply…

My father climbs into the silo.He has come, rung by rung,up the wooden trail that scalesthat tall belly of cement. It’s winter, twenty below zero,He can hear the wind overhead.The silage beneath his bootsis so frozen it has no smell. My father takes up a pick-axand chops away a layer of silage.He works neatly, counter-clockwiseunder a yellow light, then lifts the chunks with a pitchforkand throws them down the chute.They break as they falland rattle far below. His breath comes out in clouds,his fingers begin to ache, buthe skims off another layerwhere the frost is forming and begins to sing, “You are mysunshine, my only sunshine.” – Posted very late…

By John Brehm Surfeit of distance and the wracked mind waiting,nipping at itself, snarling inwardly at strangers.If I had a car in this town I’drig it up with a rear bumper horn,something to blast back at the jackasseswho honk the second the light turns green.If you could gather up all the hornhonksof just one day in New York City,tie them together in a big brassy knothigh above the city and honkthem all at once it would shiverthe skyscrapers to nothingness, as ifthey were made of sand, and usherin the Second Coming. Christ would descendfrom the sky wincing with his fingersin his ears and judge us allinsane. Who’d want people like…

by James Fenton [For @ameliemx] This is where I came from.I passed this way.This should not be shamefulOr hard to say. A self is a self.It is not a screen.A person should respect What he has been. This is my past Which I shall not discard.This is the ideal.This is hard. – Posted from my iPhone

by David R. Slavitt Her repertoire is limited but fulfilling,with two preoccupations, or three, perhaps,if you include the taking of many naps:otherwise she is snuggling or killing – Posted from my iPhone Location:on the bus to work