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For trains that never arrived
Drank shots in cellar bars
On Tuesday nights
With in-betweeners
Who still believe in lady luck
I’ve walked along promenades
Been battered by the wind and the rain
Taken shelter in late night cafés
Drank coffee so strong
It made me shudder
I’ve read the beat poets so many times
But I never tire of the words
Of Ginsberg and Kerouak
I’ve watched black and white movies
Made long before I was a twinkle
In somebody’s eye
across the years it moves my soul
Words so sweet, so gentle, and clear
melodies of love took their toll
A face from my past gazed at me
I had met these eyes once before
I recognized this sweet beauty
from far off to the distant door
Dropping by when I am weakest
lighting mysteries upon my breast
Abandoned and a bit sorry for himself
He had been her favorite for years and years
Dragged through the dirt and carried by the ears
One eye, a black button had come undone
His matted faux fur bleached from the sun
On school yard, playgrounds, and grandma’s front stair
With Ann, Mr. Buckles went everywhere
Man and Woman made together partaking in a heavenly parade
luminously walking along one’s own brigade, fully powered
Clearly connecting kinetically communicating through the cosmos
A fabric to weave in and out of the one mused most
Enveloped in a theory of strings and mindful news posts
Set up a series of lyrical hosts discovering the deepest cognitive coasts
Visually experiencing the tides of thought in the eyes mind and believing in
Sending messages of safe passage over seas
Weathering storms, disease and all liquid creatures swimming about
Destructive demonstrated dance dialect positioning translation
this tropical complicity. Give me
a hundred names for snow,
Wagner,
Give me all the guilt
I never owned.
My sweat smells like Dachau,
even under Caribbean blooms, even
after I have thumbed it red. I wear
other cultures because mine is
the way they ignited something in me
when they collided with mine.
The way his fingertips reminded me
of a cold winter breeze
Today we’d like to share with you a beautiful, inspirational artwork by Jeremiah Morelli, and 10 quotes for book lovers and true bookworms.
“Books and doors are the same thing, you open them and you go through into another world.” – Jeanette Winterson
“I know some who are constantly drunk on books as other
The days are long, hot, and maddening,
the nights cloudy, starless, and sultry.
Sleep withheld behind a heavy dark veil.
Spirit weary in its empty aloneness.
Fleeting visions from happier times,
refuse to project, on the silver screen within.
Joy from dust-covered chapters, dissolves in decay,
upon the sagging shelves of remembrance.
who they were;
manifestations of the Creator,
tiny vessels of His presence
cultivated inside me,
within me,
conceived in my womb;
the fruits of me
nourished by
the fruit of me
before life
beyond my being
would become
their own
And they were
who they had become;
myself…my selves
fractions of me,
addends of we,
divided into wholes
You need a wake-up call
We should not sacrifice our privacy
in exchange for imaginary safety
It is just an excuse
to control, to abuse
Cameras in every street
check where and when we meet
