Saturday, August 20, 2016

Saturday Verse: "My Doubt" - Jane Hirshfield

August 15th, 2016

I wake, doubt, beside you,
like a curtain half-open. 
I dress doubting,
like a cup
undecided if it has been dropped. 
I eat doubting,
work doubting,
go out to a dubious cafe with skeptical friends. 
I go to sleep doubting myself,
as a herd of goats
sleep in a suddenly gone-quiet truck. 
I dream you, doubt,
for what is the meaning of dreaming
if not that all we are while inside it
is transient, amorphous, in question? 
Left hand and right hand,
doubt, you are in me,
throwing a basketball, guiding my knife and my fork.
Left knee and right knee,
we run for a bus,
for a meeting that surely will end before we arrive. 
I would like
to grow conent in you, doubt,
as a double-hung window
settles obedient into its hidden pulleys and ropes. 
I doubt I can do so:
your own counterweight governs my nights and my days. 
As the knob of hung lead holds steady
the open mouth of a window,
you hold me,
my kneeling before you resistant, stubborn,
offering these furious praises
I can't help but doubt you will ever be able to hear.

                                                                       - Jane Hirshfield

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Music for your Midweek: Brandi Carlile - "The Story"

August 13th, 2016
A concert with a view

I went to the Brandi Carlile concert up at Deer Valley on Saturday night, and ugly cried through this whole song. Thank goodness it was dark:

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Saturday Verse: "For Mohammed Zeid, Age 15" - Naomi Shihab Nye

June 11th, 2016

There is no stray bullet, sirs. 
No bullet like a worried cat
crouching under a bush.
no half-hairless puppy bullet
dodging midnight streets.
The bullet could not be a pecan
plunking the tin roof,
not hardly, no fluff of pollen
on October's breath,
no humble pebble in the street. 
So don't gentle it, please. 
We live among stray thoughts,
tasks abandoned midstream.
Our fickle hearts are fat
with stray devotions, we feel at home
among bits and pieces,
all the wandering ways of words. 
But this bullet had no innocence, did not
wish anyone well, you can't tell us otherwise
by naming it mildly, this bullet was never the friend
of life, should not be granted immunity
by soft saying–friendly fire, straying death-eye,
why have we given the wrong weight to what we do? 
Mohammed, Mohammed,  deserves the truth. 
This bullet had no secret happy hopes,
it was not singing to itself with eyes closed under the bridge
like the exiled lady in her precious faded hat.

                                                                    - Naomi Shihab Nye

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Saturday Verse: "God Says Yes To Me" - Kaylin Haught

August 4th, 2016

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

                                                    - Kaylin Haught

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Saturday Verse: "Loud Music" - Stephen Dobyns

Anderson .Paak
July 28th, 2016


My stepdaughter and I circle round and round.
You see, I like the music loud, the speakers
throbbing, jam-packing the room with sound whether
Bach or rock and roll, the volume cranked up so
each bass note is like a hand smacking the gut.
But my stepdaughter disagrees. She is four
and likes the music decorous, pitched below
her own voice–that tenuous projection of self.
With music blasting, she feels she disappears,
is lost within the blare, which in fact I like.
But at four what she wants is self-location
and uses her voice as a porpoise uses
its sonar: to find herself in all this space.
If she had a sort of box with a peephole
and looked inside, what she'd like to see would be
herself standing there in her red pants, jacket,
yellow plastic lunch box: a proper subject
for serious study. But me, if I raised
the same box to my eye, I would with to find
the ocean on one of those days with wind
and thick cloud make the water gray and restless
as if some creature brooded underneath,
a rocky coast with a road along the shore
where someone like me was walking and has gone.
Loud music does this, it wipes out the ego,
leaving turbulent water and winding road,
a landscape stripped of people and language–
how clear the air becomes, how sharp the colors.

                                                           - Stephen Dobyns

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Music for your Midweek: Anderson .Paak - "The Bird"

July 23rd, 2016

Going to Twilight all on my lonesome to Anderson .Paak do his thing live, and in person. He's too good and none of ya'll know.