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Showing posts from September, 2016

A Savage Man

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It was a few minutes after noon, my shift at my part-time job was over. I was excitedly heading out into the sunlight and though eager for the licks of the late summer sun, paused for a few seconds for my usual exchange with Jude, the guard at the door. “You’re done for the day?” He asked in a tone and look of surprise. Although my shifts are often over by noon and it really ought not surprise him at all, Jude always manages to act surprised when he sees me leaving for the day. I replied that he was correct and asked about his health. “By the grace of God, I’m well” was his response, as it often is. I stood and beamed at him and said I would be seeing him, to which he merrily responded, with a little wave of the hand, “See you, sister!” Jude has been calling me sister ever since I told him I am Ghanaian. He is Nigerian. 

As I made my exit I noticed a woman trying to get out, too, pushing a shopping cart from another store. I kept the door opened for her while she struggled to force the…

The Waking by Theodore Roethke

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The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

-
Theodore Roethke

Photography: City Notes

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jamming for bread - j

A Postcard From Thoughts: Blur

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- j

Summer Diary: When Fuchsia Roses Rule

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Every where this summer, fuchsia roses reigned.  Every where! What is this I wondered? I am all for pink, really, all of me is for pink. But everyone knows that one does not mess with fuchsia. It is one of those colors best enjoyed in little doses. Which is why I was surprised that several thought it the thing to have so much of the pretty noise, in roses, dancing loudly under the hot summer sun. It did not bother me, being a color abuser myself I was very happy to observe how distasteful it all was! The thing is I did not know my complaints were a form of admiration until much much later. Well you know how it is, confusion takes over the land where fuchsia roses rule.Because these loud flowers were always all in one’s face, when one went out for a little air, I suppose it is natural that one would start to feel curious about them. Thus the question came to me, from I don’t know where, did these screaming flowers smell like roses? I poked my nose into a flower for an answer. Yes, inde…

Poetry: I Cannot Believe Life is... by Nicola Masciandaro

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I cannot believe life is really happening

I cannot believe life is really happening
Nor live without wonder that I am happening.

Uncanny feeling, question, unknowing a cloud
Of what, why, where, when, to whom this is happening.

Have you heard the night, swallowing every being,
Screaming how much pleasure and pain is happening?

This, never to come, always passed, can only be
Because there is no way that it is happening.

How many aeons have you been at sea? Big deal.
Doubting whether only proves you are happening.

Every biography is burning on the pyre
Of the pure anonymity of happening.

Nicola squirms in undersea caverns, alone,
Ecstatic, so happy something is happening.

-
Nicola Masciandaro

Photography: The Left

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- j