By Angie
http://therer2doors-thespacebetweenwords.blogspot.com/
this ordinary day is
deceptive an
interception of
hostile components
a hailstone I ride the updraft
rising until I freeze falling
just to rise again
when cold meets hot / wall clouds form
my folly is trying to outrun the storm
Friday, June 5, 2009
"haverhill cemetery, on old 52"
By Angie http://therer2doors-thespacebetweenwords.blogspot.com/
he walked up pointing his
cane at our flowers calling
to us saying I know your
people they're good people
we're all good people 'round
here we were good kids back
then I remember we didn't do
nothing real bad just got into
fistfights yeah we stole us some
watermelons those boys could play
ball your granddaddy was a pitcher
oh he had an arm we were just kids
he said well I just buried my son
he retired then he died it don't
seem right but you know
these things happen the sun's
shining today and we're still
here tell your daddy I knew his
daddy I always remember
good people
I picked a dandelion puffed
full with seed and blew
little pieces of life grabbed the wind
they danced their way through the cemetery
they looked like angels
he walked up pointing his
cane at our flowers calling
to us saying I know your
people they're good people
we're all good people 'round
here we were good kids back
then I remember we didn't do
nothing real bad just got into
fistfights yeah we stole us some
watermelons those boys could play
ball your granddaddy was a pitcher
oh he had an arm we were just kids
he said well I just buried my son
he retired then he died it don't
seem right but you know
these things happen the sun's
shining today and we're still
here tell your daddy I knew his
daddy I always remember
good people
I picked a dandelion puffed
full with seed and blew
little pieces of life grabbed the wind
they danced their way through the cemetery
they looked like angels
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
How to Leave the World that Worships Should
By Ros Barber
Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves.
Let junk mail build its castles in the hush
of other people's halls. Let deadlines burst
and flash like glorious fireworks somewhere else.
As hours go softly by, let others curse
the roads where distant drivers queue like sheep.
Let e-mails fly like panicked, tiny birds.
Let phones, unanswered, ring themselves to sleep.
Above, the sky unrolls its telegram,
immense and wordless, simply understood:
you've made your mark like birdtracks in the sand -
now make the air in your lungs your livelihood.
See how each wave arrives at last to heave
Itself upon the beach and vanish. Breathe.
Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves.
Let junk mail build its castles in the hush
of other people's halls. Let deadlines burst
and flash like glorious fireworks somewhere else.
As hours go softly by, let others curse
the roads where distant drivers queue like sheep.
Let e-mails fly like panicked, tiny birds.
Let phones, unanswered, ring themselves to sleep.
Above, the sky unrolls its telegram,
immense and wordless, simply understood:
you've made your mark like birdtracks in the sand -
now make the air in your lungs your livelihood.
See how each wave arrives at last to heave
Itself upon the beach and vanish. Breathe.
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