Now thou has loved me one whole day,Tomorrow when you leav’st, what wilt thou say?Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow? Or say that nowWe are not just those persons which we were?Or, that oaths made in reverential fearOf Love, and his wrath, any may forswear?Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,So lovers’ contracts, images of those,Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose? Or, your own end to justify,For having purposed change and falsehood, youCan have no way but falsehood to be true?Vain lunatic, against these ‘scapes I could Dispute and conquer, if I would, Which I abstain to do,For by tomorrow, I may think so too. – Posted…

by Jennifer Rae Vernon You look like you wrestled 1405’5, medium broad, crew-cut, redhead My uncles wrestled, and my brothers, tooI’m standing in the airport line, watching you You wear your tee-shirt proud, Ketchican wrestlerwhite cursive on dark red Bet you spit to make weight,ran stairs in snow pants Cocked head, no jacket, you earned itstill, got both hands in your pockets, Eighteen, going home for Christmasduffle bag hanging from shoulder Camouflage printmilitary’s got you in their grip Little one. My Jesus wish?halt the combat That makes ours Vetsand Satan’s rich

to love life, to love it evenwhen you have no stomach for itand everything you’ve held dearcrumbles like burnt paper in your hands,your throat filled with the silt of it.When grief sits with you, its tropical heatthickening the air, heavy as watermore fit for gills than lungs;when grief weights you like your own fleshonly more of it, an obesity of grief,you think, How can a body withstand this?Then you hold life like a facebetween your palms, a plain face,no charming smile, no violet eyes,and you say, yes, I will take youI will love you, again – Posted from my iPhone

Keep me from going to sleep too soonOr if I go to sleep too soonCome wake me up. Come any hourOf night. Come whistling up the road.Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.Make me get out of bed and comeAnd let you in and light a light.Tell me the northern lights are onAnd make me look. Or tell me cloudsAre doing something to the moonThey never did before, and show me.See that I see. Talk to me tillI’m half as wide awake as youAnd start to dress wondering whyI ever went to bed at all.Tell me the walking is superb.Not only tell me but persuade me.You know I’m not…

Here, I placea blue glazed cupwhere the woodis slightly whitened.Here, I lay downtwo bright spoons,our breakfast saucers, napkinswhite and smooth as milk. I am stirring at the sink,I am stirringthe amount of dewyou can gather in two hands,folding it into the fragilequiet of the house.v Before the eggs,before the coffeeheaving like a warm cat,I step out to the feeder-one foot, then the other,alive on wet blades.Air lifts my gown – I might fly –  This thistle seed I pour is for the tiny birds.This ritual,for all things frailand imperiled.Wings surround me, frothingthe air. I am struckby what becomes holy. A womanwho lost her teenage childto an illness without mercy,said that at…

My father always said, “early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy,  wealthy and wise.” it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house  and we were up at dawn to the smell of coffee,  frying bacon and scrambled eggs.  my father followed this general routine for a lifetime  and died young, broke, and, I think, not too wise.  taking note, I rejected his advice and it became,  for me,  late to bed and late to rise.  now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered the world  but I’ve avoided numberless early traffic jams,  bypassed some common pitfalls  and have met some strange,  wonderful people one of whom was…

It was 2006, I was in Boston, taking the green line downtown and had just entered the underground station. The lines at the cashier windows on both sides of the turnstiles were long. A tall soldier, dressed in camouflage carrying a large duffle bag over his shoulder was staring at the lines too, obviously confused. I had already pre-purchased tokens (this was before they were phased out) and told him to follow me. I thumbed a gold token into the turnstiles for each of us. We went through and I found the stairs to the tracks. A few minutes of waiting I found him again. He still looked nervous and…

You have learned to enjoy the attribute of patience in itself, for it slows time, honors tranquility, and lets you savor a world in which you are clearly aware that your passage is but a brief candle. – Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone