Writing at a whim
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Funeral Blues
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Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring o...
If I Could Tell You
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Time will say nothing but I told you so Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know. If we sho...
Thursday, April 7, 2016
White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field
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White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field by Mary Oliver Coming down out of the freezing sky with its depths of light, like an angel, or...
Something Beautiful
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Something Beautiful by Mary Oliver It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; j...
Saturday, February 6, 2016
At The Pond
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One summer I went every morning to the edge of a pond where a huddle of just-hatched geese would paddle to me ...
Thursday, April 30, 2015
SingPoWriMoDay28
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Here, one must learn that light cannot be understood by skin. It does not push back, as surfaces do. It is edgeless; it cannot sing. I am ...
SingPoWriMoDay09
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Across the bay evening dips into the water, a leg over the lip of the bath. A corpse in the bath is worth two in the hand. Who said that? Pr...
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