We are lit by the aurora ( Read more... )

by Kevin Young

This is a noir movie in verse, in a spare, mattress-ticking-and-iron-rail style. The language is both gritty and playful. You never forget that these characters are leading lives of being a little too cold, a little too poor, a little too drunk. Even the sex scenes occur in seedy motels and the rhapsodies are about forgetting.

( some excerpts. I had a hell of a time choosing )

( picture-heavy )

n the history of sweaters, there has never been an uglier waste of yarn.

That's a footnote from one of the poems in John Grandits' Technically It's Not My Fault. Our library shelves the kiddo poetry all in one place, which I appreciate, and I picked this book out because it had a funny title, and left to my own poetry selection, I tend to read the ( Read more... )

by Richard Wilbur ( Read more... )

My tabs from yesterday include two poetry sites and a nice site on the structure of the earth ( Read more... )

We sang "Come Thou Fount", which is one of my favorites. And we talked about the Luther/Zwingli conflict (Reformashun theologian smakdown). And Zwingli called Luther a cannibal, because of that little disagreement about transubstatiation and Zwingle is a consubstantiation guy. So that was all awesome. And then we got a reading from Rumi.
( Read more... )

If You'll Only Go To Sleepby Gabriela Mistral ( Read more... )

by Marge Piercy ( Read more... )

I was walking Baz home from school after his Veteran's Day assembly, and he asked if he knew any veterans. I said that all of his grandfathers had served, and they were all veterans. Three out of four of my dad's generation are eligible for burial in military cemetaries (although Jim is riding on his wife's ticket). All of my grandfathers served, ( Read more... )