love according to lorca

                          de Profundis



                              Those hundred lovers
are asleep forever
                           beneath the dry earth.
Andalusia has
                    long, red-colored roads.
Córdoba, green olive trees
                                      for placing a hundred crosses
to remember them.
                             Those hundred lovers
are asleep forever.




                                Tom Clark translation












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the only real question

     


             WHAT IS A POEM?



Picture a man going from place
to place, finding a bone here,
a skull there, a chunk of stone,
a shard of plate, an old calendar,
a rusty bolt, a piece of cloth.
What is a poem but that.
What is a poem but that?

Four sparrows hop about in the backyard
near the path to the trashbarrel.
They pick scraps and bits off the ice.
Two blue jays come upon them,
and the sparrows don't hesitate to flee.
What is a poem but that?
What is a poem but that.

The man sees a murder one morning.
This is in America.
Another day he sits in a goverment office.
This is the place it happens.
Things happen. Murder
and waiting in government offices.
This is not a poem.
This is not a poem?

That man cannot be saved.
Everything must be saved brefore he will be.
He doesn't eat for days.
There is nothing to eat.
This is not a poem?
This is not a poem.

What is a poem? This is not a poem.
This is not a poem? What is a poem.
What is a poem but that?
What is a poem but that  (...)




               ---SIMON ORTIZ














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erourehr ar rare in the mind

 

 

 

 

 

Easter Hymn

 

 

Seasons one after flutter..

Follow the rhythm of nature

After the winter's wonder

Springs forth beautiful flower

Death having no more power

Life seen in great splendour

Garden full of golden colour

Creation adorned with vigour

Jesus Master and Saviour

Help us always pass over

From death to life culture

From hatred to loving care

Truth beauty found so rare

In the empty tomb so dear

Tells the mystery of Easter

In a grain of wheat to uncover

 

 

 

 Fr.  Paulachan Kochappilly

 

 

 

 

. peripatetic imperative

          WALKING



 

We need to walk

to know sacred places.
 

Healthy feet feel the heartbeat

of our Mother Earth,

Sitting Bull said long ago.

Walt Whitman knew that, too.
 

When we go by wheel

we roll over the land

as if it were nothing

but miles left behind.
 

When we go by air

we cut off our vision

and even our spirits

may take so long

to catch up to our bodies

that our eyes will be empty

of all but flight.
 

We need to walk

to remember the songs,

not only our own

but those of the birds,

those kept in the arms

of the hills and the wind.

 

We need to walk

to know sacred places

those around us

and those within.



      joseph baruchac   (abenaki)















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and the silence which follows

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a nod to rail verse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

             

                                

 

 

 

 

 

 

                            Wormhole is to Theory as Flame is to Flint 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

picture this by ---  Nanc Van Winckel

 

 

 

 

                         

one poem

 

                                                                    TWO     





 

I need what he wanted to be seen. Alter. An eye turned to the stones of a salad. Waits. How will it swing. In on the then and now face around air. Pins of his watch lasting what it’s to go talk. Thickened, motions begin the state of words so what if it may be. Memory itself, then boxed, goes to that. Out of the stones pinning to balances. Held floats back out. Arm in various breaths even one sees. Then the stated passage region, if rather numbered. I’m out of a face, he didn’t not part no odds. No way out of the air the tobaccos chilled. Lantern down over our eyes into the ground. Going so be words of motion the various fluorites. Cat so slow threshold. Wordshed. Number had it, memory of such that it boxed. Literature might part, later might be held to motions that word. To company clear as simple light odds. I lost that counts what sees names. Estimate one could say, a face stop that proves my floats back out. Nice state of proves of light of life. Floyd in his matters, balances, sanies. Sucked in memory pushed rather only on our numbers. Some to that, what the want. Old that there as I have it counts. Under fall of slickensides the walls come blank. Better stop the face has entered down the road. Gone and now so are going. Names be the first of to say like a watch it. Talk if that it part might. Solution envelops itself, boxed the swamps. What the memory wanted dust raises less than that he wants. Slid one later or take in then. Onions entered, glass in storage, radiator I’ll make of the felt number held.

One could say various fluorites, a literature around the mantle. It can’t be that to listen to it will it. Pinning balances to the lasting of pins. Old alike to that, what just else ends. Words of the held begin only in the ground. What ends before the thickened various caves on display. Names be if I say anything unless in passage. Toots for that matter. Nouns going so are the counts. Floyd felt had holding entered back to that it pins. On before the one stated on tap. Envelopes of the kind itself stops. Odds on motions be words of the held begins still. Frog floats clear of all this so simple.

Nothing there is but the systems head. Wants to be seen alters. Speaker resolves to balance the door. Too long itself to listen to sounds it swamps. Make hum of that in which it comes to that. A way that is white and long to come. Serious then and now lamp. Any more of his states from want of that in the ground. Still each. Must that words go back. Others practice envelopes. So what if it’s less than an order.

                          Then and now after each.
                           Like a means not to be light.
                           Shafts in various passage.
                          Which to one and not only in.
                          Watch to that.
                          Listen and had been.
                          Is like then owing to others.
                              Hum of it’s felt from all biped.
                             Seems and goes all.
                             Sort of watch.
                             Passing onions to that.
                            How the being of what he was to myself.
                             Swamps boxed.
                             Stated as floats by and large.
                             So if what on maybe a certain white.
                            Light over a speaker.
                            But Floyd’s lantern an interest not to be toted.
                             Literature of hours of region an example.
                            Nothing set forth I set myself to back.
                            Balance on the if so.
                            Of things about on the true.
                            Breathing means a face.
                             Floats an air.
                             Means a face.
                             Ground a tap.
                             Nothing so short goes through any more practice to that.
Calm their little ways on balance the meaning of this. Packet lightness, every leaf to a salad. Thing then and now that to begin with. Have it stated various when you get to shut it. Tooth on board sounds stuck when on. Work a lantern of stout ground. 

Cone watch its cylinders thicken. Fluorites pinned to the back well in vain. Log the crystal better than to think. Tapping its bones, means to come to the cave. And to avoid these, the speaker replied, or Gene Autry. The wall as one laughs place this room. You stand the talking at the window as stones. Drops past the pause in order really. Some last calm style wedged at the systems head. Carbide peels the stamps off the pants of Jesus. Quite the sort of it better to think. Door only to be taken in. Mingles into the corner as it comes. Enough, and green, and by and large, were familiar. Topics still too short where they join. Cave remains as one sticks night to it. Name places as certain things.

                        Food sheets.

                        Sort means through others.

                          Crystal toils.

                        System clear of the town picture.

                        Pause peels.

                        Style ridge.

                        Jesus as an egg.

                        Lies in some places.

                        Dynamite down under some pears.

                       An order of lime cells to go in the world.

I touched the radio in the middle of winter salt on the sheets. Perhaps with some others I clear the town. Story with the cone to time it. One biped begins one laugh having many other sorts of things to the walls. Calm shutting of the door on every light year past. I resolved to think the crystal into the flint salt system. I began having to touch the thing until it was in my trunk. The main home of the cave as a tie and stick. Log of Gene Autry’s much store in the world. See to it that nothing stands up the rigid dirigible of lime. Or rhythm comes of my stick. A pencil break after each pause over. Tires, radios, eggs, and others of the year. After a few cells green was not so strange an example. Warhol left the cave as night had left it. Touched the speaker, everything that began to go about it long.



Clark Coolidge


















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