WAIT!
pun ment ish
Make prime crime
Make crime prime
time the
to fit
to time
fit the
Make prime time crime
Make crime time the in
PUNISH!
MAKE!
FIT!
Wake
to make
The punishment
fit the crime
in prime time
Pun Ment Ish
Ish. Ish.
Ish?
W
A
K
E
!
#Mikado #NewsCritic #BroadcastSchedules
Person
vulnerable valiant
striving straining dreaming
words : poems
inviolate individual
woman
#EmilyDickinsonlifeandpoetry #TheBelleOfAmherst #Dickinson #EmilyDickinson
She pulls away harboring
some secret hurt or imagined injury
Implacable
she turns her being
toward the cold uncaring world
I call to her
across desolate Icelandic islands
and only distancing
echoes return to me
I continue to hope
all the while tending the embers
of happier days
But the mysterious cruel rejection
pierces so deeply
my wound, time-aging, becomes
scarcely able to heal
O, why does she not answer
why does she not return
to rewarm herself
at the waiting hearth-fire’s glow?
#friendsandfriendship
#lostfriends
It was whispered all through the fairylands
That one was coming who was not of them,
But who would walk among them in their tiny realms.
And panic gripped their little hearts
So that they covered all their houses of dreams,
Hid away their birds of happiness,
Locked away their rainbow treasures,
Camouflaged their every delight,
Built their fortresses of invisibility.
Throughout the wispy empires
Was stillness, absolute, profound.
From a distance
Came the wind of the invader’s breath
Like a whirling cyclone
And the weight of the alien’s step
Startled the ground
And filled their hearts with fear.
As the tempest came nearer,
It grew in fury
Yet they kept the silence
Till at last the other left their realms.
Then off came the mantles of gloom
And the tinkle of fairy laughter
Rose high on the winds
Far from their fairy palaces,
Thundered a voice
To fall on a multitude waiting:
“These creatures are non-existent,
Figments of the imagination only.
They dwell within our minds.
I spoke so softly,
Tread so lightly.
I saw nothing. Nothing.”
#FairiesFaeries #TellaFairyTaleDay
Castle towers and crystal light
And silent dreams invoke the night
And love, a bird with moon-white wing
Sings.
#love #dreams #nightandmoon
(For William Saroyan and George Freitag Who knew how it is)
The long high wires swing,
Sing in the wind
Sibylline sentences,
Messages in myriad,
Life in suspension
From pole to pole.
But the bell is still
And only silence rings
Through the house
Where every room waits
Empty
Until you dial.
#loneliness #communication #emotionalconnection #phoneconversations
In a strange and new land I stood in trance
I thought: recuerdo…remembrance
Have I been here before
Or is it only a dream
I remembered the sunlight
melting from the patio and twilight
shadows at the hacienda door
a sudden strum of guitars
swelling, compelling me
into whirl and swirl of fanciful dance
I remembered the night alive
with color, movement, and sound:
rhythmic drumming clip of heels on stone
high light laughter
and star-touched dark eyes
a flash of white teeth agleam
Recuerdo…Ah, yes…
It was not a dream
But a sense of renewal and joy
My heart had been happy here
another time…long ago…recuerdo
#HispanicMonth #PanAmerican #SpanishandLatinoCulture
Who has not dreamed
of one day waking
to find the lost one at the gate
with smiling eyes
to ease heart’s aching
and turn about the blow of fate
Who has not known
the pain of yearning
through daylong hours and night’s
slow pace
To hear the sound
of glad returning
to feel once more the fond embrace
Who has not sighed
as dawn came stealing
to shatter sleep and dreams erase
(that breaking light
such truth revealing:
not now to see the longed-for face)
With hope withdrawn but not forsaking
the heart must wait the promised graces:
Another Time, Another Place
#Mourning
“It is always Tuesday!”
Thus she asserted it.
Quickly I countered,
quite slyly, I thought,
sure of my fact and logic,
“But is there not Monday?”
“Of course, ninny, just one day before,”
and she smiled triumphantly,
“Tuesday!”
I called on Wednesday
even sweetening it a bit to please her,
“Mercredi? Miercoles?”
“Ah,” she said, “one day after.”
Again she smiled
with a touch of pity, I think, at my ploy,
“Tuesday!” she said.
I reasoned and lost.
Thursdays were useless
even I knew that.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday
each fell in its turn
until at last, I, too,
crumbled, conquered,
for in a strange way I came to see
that for it to be so was good,
and, maybe, even right.
#GertrudeStein #GertrudeSteinandWritingStyle
While we schemed
Our falling-star dreams
Our firefly summer vanished.
Our childhood wishes
Like pixie men
Whose sylvan homes
Ring with elfin cries
Enchant us still
In memory—
Now forever
Just out of reach
Like ghostly butterflies.
#Aging #MemoriesofYouth #Childhood