May 16, 2010 § Leave a comment
Write a Book a Year
Well the wild ride into the earth was thrilling,
really, scared as I was and torn and sore.
I say what other woman could have managed it?
My life before then
picking flowers against my destiny
what glance, what meeting,
who was watching, what we don’t know we know,
the hour we chose and we are chosen.
And suddenly the dead my mission,
the dark my mission.
He’d find me pounding out the hours.
Spring is for women, spring clawing at our hearts.
We are pulled forward by our hair
to be anointed in the barren garden.
I want the dark back, the bloody well of it,
my face before the fire,
or lie alone on the cold stone and find a way
to sleep awhile, wake clear and wander.
— Deborah Digges
May 14, 2010 § Leave a comment
in the world
is usual today.
the first morning.
Come quickly—as soon as
these blossoms open,
This world exists
as a sheen of dew on flowers.
these pine trees
keep their original color,
is different in spring.
Seeing you is the thread
that ties me to this life—
If that knot
were cut this moment,
I’d have no regret.
I watch over
the spring night—
but no amount of guarding
is enough to make it stay.
— From Izumi Shikibu’s love poems
May 13, 2010 § Leave a comment
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go and do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
— From a friend of a good friend.
May 10, 2010 § Leave a comment
I leave every weekend with this unbelievable feeling of weightlessness, and I know it’s because I’ve got our days spent together on my mind. Our moments passed still linger on my lips and hands and in my heart, and I taste everything that is good about love.
You remind me about everything that is good about love.