Oh, those Sufis! So wise. Love is indeed a many-splendored thing. The light that warms us. And fills us up. Unselfish. Unlike any other human emotion, I think. Oh, to be safe in the arms of love! No better place. Ever. . . .
Emerson wrote that in 1860, but it has special meaning today, since beauty has become a medically-commercial commodity that he could have never anticipated. It's interesting to be the age that I am because the days of trading in whatever beauty I had in my youth are long gone.Sure, there's surgical . . .
Poem upon friend's death Poem by Langston Hughes I loved my friend. He went away from me. There's nothing more to say. The poem ends Soft as it began- I loved my friend. . . .
Pull My Daisy by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac & Neal Cassady (each one wrote a line sequentially, seeing only the line before) Pull my daisytip my cupall my doors are openCut my thoughtsfor coconutsall my eggs are brokenJack my Ardengate my shadeswoe my road is spokenSilk my gardenrose my . . .
Ralph Waldo EmersonEmbracing the totality of life is what it's all about.There's plenty of darkness around usbut it's warmer in the sunshineand living there makes for a happier life.Just ask my dogs, who love to bask in the warm grass and sunshine.The other day Riley ran out into the cold, crispair . . .
Show any Sicilian-American kid this picture and s/he will get it, immediately. Here's the scenario: Sicilian-American Mom: Don't do that. Kid: (does it anyway) Mom: I told you not to do that. Kid: (continues to be naughty) Then: The sound of a kitchen drawer sliding open hard, the rattling of . . .
When I was young, I was self-conscious about everything that happened.Each action seemed so earth-shakingly important, so life-changing.With the perspective of age, I see that life is very forgiving.That we all make mistakes and blunders, but few of them are life-changing.Most of the things that . . .
That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and the comfort of the ResurrectionCLOUD-PUFFBALL, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm . . .
Outside on this beautiful, poetic spring day. Oh, nothing is so beautiful as Spring --When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush,Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrushThrough the echoing timber does so rinse and wringThe ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;That . . .
This is the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem read by Colin Firth at Elizabeth Taylor's funeral today."Give beauty back to God." It's just perfect. The Leaden Echo And The Golden Echo (Maidens' song from St. Winefred's Well) . . .