Romeo and Juliet

March 30, 2007

Abandoned House-Taratonga-Cook Islands

Dominic Arizona Bonuccelli




If you will die for me,
I will die for you
and our graves will
be like two lovers washing 
their clothes together
in a laundromat.
If you will bring the soap,
I will bring the bleach
Richard Brautigan


Darek Banasik













Danse Russe

March 30, 2007



Art by Rachel



IF when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,–
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,–


Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?


William Carlos Williams




John Running

I Want You to Know

March 24, 2007


Vladamir Kush 


























I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.



















Mike Sibthorp




Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little. 
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you. 
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.













Manolis Tsantakis



if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine


Pablo Neruda


March 23, 2007

Cottage Near St. Remy

Wendy Leach


I was reported as mature content. I tracked down the meaning of the phrase and understood that it could very well mean someone found my blog offensive.


As my commentary states I seek connectivity. I wish the person who felt the need to “report” me could have “spoken” with me. It all seems so, so secretive. It feels icky. And, I do not feel icky about my blog.

This space feels like life and love to me. This is where I come to express my experience of humanity, others and my own. I do not expect or even hope that people will share or understand my relationship with the force that is life,

With my own and the universe’s life force.

Nudity is life to me. It is love. It is showing us our humanity.

It is who we are when we are not in our costumes.

(When I was 19 an older woman, 35 years old I think, taught me this word and the beauty that clothing can express about us, the eccentricities, the personalities, and the creativity we all have.)

And, I am one sensitive woosie woo woo, let me tell you. You can bet money and you will win the pot if you think: Uh oh, Kim is going to obsess some on this. Bingo! (Was his name….)

And, I experience my little corner of the universe as beauty.


Red Ribbon


Paul Shilliger


Being human, I am sad someone might find this offensive.

Oh well!

Tomorrow IS Friday and I am dining with my Mexican family tomorrow night. We will dine and play with play-dough and floam. ( I am stunned; floam is not in the spell-check!)

Yea baby!

Good night!


P.S. I truly think we should all go to Tuscany this weekend, eat olives, feta cheese and drink fine wine.


Between Earth and Sky

La Crete

Paul Schillger


March 23, 2007



Texture Port Mohomack Scotland 2004

Giedrius Varnas


Before the gate has been closed

before the last question is posed

before I am transposed.

Before the weeds fill the gardens,

before there are no pardons

before the concrete hardens.



The Tree

Manolis Tsantakis

Before all the flute-holes are covered,

before things are locked in then cupboard,

before the rules are discovered.

Before the conclusion is planned,

before God closes his hand,

before we have nowhere to stand.



Carl Sandburg



The Emergence Series

The Offering

Martin Cooper


Even the Rain

March 17, 2007


Steven Gelberg





What will suffice for a true-love knot?
Even the rain?
But he has bought grief's lottery,
bought even the rain.

"our glosses / wanting in this world"
"Can you remember?"
Anyone! "when we thought / the poets taught"
  even the rain?



 Ain't Feel No More
Jorge Luis Alvarez Pupo 

After we died--That was it!
God left us in the dark.
And as we forgot the dark,
we forgot even the rain.
Drought was over. Where was I?
Drinks were on the house.
For mixers, my love, you'd poured--what?—
even the rain.

Of this pear-shaped orange's perfumed twist,
I will say:
Extract Vermouth from the bergamot,
even the rain.



Lorissa Shepstone

How did the Enemy love you—
with earth? air? and fire?
He held just one thing back till he got even:
 the rain.

This is God's site for 
a new house of executions?
You swear by the Bible,Despot,
even the rain?

After the bones--those flowers—
this was found in the urn:
The lost river, ashes from the ghat,
even the rain.
What was I to prophesy if not the 
end of the world?
A salt pillar for the lonely lot, 
even the rain.

How the air raged, desperate,
streaming the earth with flames--
to help burn down my house,
Fire sought even the rain.



QT Luong

He would raze the mountains,
he would level the waves,
he would, to smooth his epic plot,
even the rain.

New York belongs at daybreak to only me,
just me--
to make this claim Memory's brought
even the rain.

They've found the knife that killed you,
but whose prints are these?
No one has such small hands, Shahid,
not even the rain.



Agha Shahid Ali



March 15, 2007

Another Place

Edward Gordon




I saw time today
In the falling petals
A white rose






This Moment

March 13, 2007

Girl in the Cold River

Ric Savid




I am stymied by love, grief, joy, loss and gain.

I am going to work and working a lot. I have 8 pieces of writing hanging out in my computer. Yes, that is how I write. I am an evolutionary writer, so there.

Love is always the answer.

Action is not, though it can be the solution also. I have this personality that needs space and time, time and space, all the same meanings, for what I experience. Working requires, as I know how to cope, that these moments be set aside. If I did not set them aside, I would not function as an Academic Adviser. Eating is a good thing, yes?

How do we fit all of ourselves into our life? Or, how do we release all of ourselves?

I feel completely alone and completely embraced.

I am being in what is me and that feels demanding at times. Demanding because moments are not allowed freedom when one has to answer the phone, fill a class, academic advise, and do what is caring for that human being who is a student.

I sometimes wonder how I came to this place. Once, I was working with Karen, a therapist, and out of my mouth flew the words, “I am bigger than my life.”

She was a quiet woman and I paid attention when she spoke. She said, “Maybe your weight is related to this?” She had a point! At that time, my size sometimes felt like all I had. Today my size is just that, a size.

Maybe this is rambling that cannot become a poem in this moment. Maybe I have written the answer to life. Maybe both.

Good Night.






2004:Female Figure:2

David Kofton

Uncle Brian

March 7, 2007




Brian Korshak


Uncle Brian died.

He died in the kitchen he shared with Aunt Miriam for 49 years. He passed through reading the Sunday paper with his cat nearby. He died quickly.

When I was 15, in 1975, Uncle Brian was ahead of it all: He was onto aerobic exercise. He ate well, lived joyfully, and exercised. I believe his life was full from within. I know I felt this from him and live that way myself now. He is inside of me.

He was my soul uncle, the prince of my developmental years, a man who fathered me (one can never have too many parents), and who taught me something that has saved my life many times.

He was Jewish yet did not practice in any overt way that I could ever fathom. He found bliss in opera, Broadway musicals, creating, and his cats.

I moved away from Uncle Brian and Aunt Miriam when I was 12. I left something so unique that I could only recognize  with age.

I now live with 4 cats. My mother told me she wants to come back in another life as one of my cats. Uncle Brian loved his cats, all cats.

I went back to Houston, TX for the summer when I was 15 and worked in a photography lab. Uncle Brian drove me to work in his Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, sometimes with the top down. He taught me about driving as we drove to work with opera wafting through the breeze. He told me to always focus on the white line on the side of the road at night, which would keep me safe. He was right. I have an eye condition where pigment adjustment is an ordeal at best, he has saved my life in blizzards, fogs, when high beams bore into my iris, and when the rain was so hard, and there was nowhere to pull over, a shovel for windshield wipers was the need of the moment.

Along with my father, he taught me photography by being a photographer.

It took me until my 30’s to discover opera. I did it well: San Francisco Opera House, first balcony, second row, read about the opera before I went, listened to it even.

I was mesmerized. Until then, I did not truly know opera.





Amar Khoday


He was an intelligent man, intellectually and emotionally.

Several years ago he emailed me this sentence: “It only gets better.”

Because of who he is and was, because he taught me something so fundamental, he is with me in presence. It is not just memory I have with him; it is a living.

I never told him.

I experienced the closest thing to regret I have ever felt. Not quite regret, I am too human to judge things anymore. I want him to know. So, I am releasing this to him now. I do not know all the mysteries, all the answers, how it all works.

I only know that I love him and always will.





The Endless Journey-Finding the Light at the End of the Desert

Amar Khoday


PS. Aunt Miriam is an entire story unto herself. And, I am sure she knows this. This is what she taught me.








March 1, 2007

Q T Loung


A day off with no guilt.

Yea Babee…….




Exquisite Snacks-Check

Mulgatawny Soup Ingredients-Check



Clean 350 Count Thread Sheets on Bed for Nap-Check

What more could a woman want?




Snow on Stairs

Paul Politis