Thursday, March 26, 2015

More Music to Collect Tears in a Glass Jar

Jonathan Jackson

First you fall, then you fly
and you believe that you belong
up in the sky.
Flap your arms, as you run,
every revolution brings you closer to the sun.
You fall asleep in motion, in unchartered
and you wake up with the stars
fallin' down around your ears.
And when they hit the ground,
they're nothin' but stones
that's how you learn to live alone.
That's how you learn to live alone.

Bit by bit, you slip away,
you lose yourself in pieces
by the things that you don't say.
You're not here, but you're still there
The sun goes up and the sun goes down,
but you're not sure you care.
You live inside the false,
till you recognize the truth.
People send you pictures,
but you can't believe it's you.
Seems forever since your house
has felt like home
that's how you learn to live alone
that's how you learn to live alone.

It don't feel right, but it's not wrong.
It's just hard to start again this far along.
Brick by brick, the letting go,
as you walk away from everything you know
When you release resistance
and you lean into the wind,
till the roof begins to crumble,
and the rain comes pourin' in,
And you sit there in the rubble,
till the rubble feels like home
That's how you learn to live alone
that's how you learn to live alone
that's how you learn to live alone

Monday, March 23, 2015

The Sound of Silence

Oh, for silence & velvety darkness & painless peace---

The most beautiful lyrics on silence ever written. Take a listen.

Marion, melancholy today

The Sound of Silence
By Simon & Garfunkel

"The Sound Of Silence"

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools," said I, "You do not know –
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you.
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Trapeze By Deborah Digges

I posted this a year ago, but it's one of my favorite poems, so I'm reposting it on this fecund, rainy first full day of Spring.  My flowers are blooming wildly. The bulbs I planted have every single one come up, eagerly, a miracle.  I also recommend an amazing book of beautiful poetry, "Cloud Pharmacy" by Susan Rich. When I first bought it, I sat and read it straight through.

Happy International Poetry Day. Read a lot of poetry today and every day.

Marion ����������

by Deborah Digges

See how the first dark takes the city in its arms
and carries it into what yesterday we called the future.

O, the dying are such acrobats.
Here you must take a boat from one day to the next,

or clutch the girders of the bridge, hand over hand.
But they are sailing like a pendulum between eternity and evening,

diving, recovering, balancing the air.
Who can tell at this hour seabirds from starlings,

wind from revolving doors or currents off the river.
Some are as children on swings pumping higher and higher.

Don't call them back, don't call them in for supper.
See, they leave scuff marks like jet trails on the sky. 

from:  Trapeze


"What I am is all that I can carry." ~ Deborah Digges


"We are what we don't throw away," ~Daniel, Rectify (Act As If, Season 2, Episode 5)


Friday, March 13, 2015

Fairy-tale Logic by A. E. Stallings

In Memory of Sir Terry Pratchett  (April 28, 1948 - March 12, 2015)
R.I.P. Gentle Author & a moving quote from his Twitter account:

@terryandrob: Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

Fairy-tale Logic

Fairy tales are full of impossible tasks:
Gather the chin hairs of a man-eating goat,
Or cross a sulphuric lake in a leaky boat,
Select the prince from a row of identical masks,
Tiptoe up to a dragon where it basks
And snatch its bone; count dust specks, mote by mote,
Or learn the phone directory by rote.
Always it’s impossible what someone asks—

You have to fight magic with magic. You have to believe
That you have something impossible up your sleeve,
The language of snakes, perhaps, an invisible cloak,
An army of ants at your beck, or a lethal joke,
The will to do whatever must be done:
Marry a monster. Hand over your firstborn son.

Source: Poetry (March 2010)

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Spring by Marion

Broken ice from my birdbath.

Spring 2015
By Marion

Spring is almost here.
The bulbs I buried in January
are shyly reaching
with tiny green shoots
toward the gray, rainy sky.

(The constant pain in my
weary body hums endlessly
like the broken instrument
that it is).

March 5 was the night of the
smallest full moon of the year,
but I was dreaming of
flowing Willows and dancing dragonflies
and Only saw moonshadows
through the pill-gauzy
curtain of my mind.

(My body is a prison wrapped
in electric barbed wire;
it only hurts when I move).

The Bluebirds have chosen
their tiny bird houses along
my faded wooden fence.
I press my tear-stained face to
dirt-streaked windows, watching
and longing for just one
pain-free day...
that never comes.

Thursday, February 26, 2015


"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." ~Edmund Burke

This week ISIS killed more than 20 Christians and burned over 8,000 rare books.  We don't even know how many women and children have been brutally raped and murdered, some reportedly crucified.  I weep daily...Our leaders are doing nothing and evil is prevailing.  I am so ashamed of our President and our leaders.  What is it going to take for someone to act on behalf of our country and stand up for those who are powerless?

It is a travesty.

God help us.

Saturday, January 31, 2015

The Circus Animals' Desertion By Yeats

The Circus Animals' Desertion
William Butler Yeats

I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. 

What can I but enumerate old themes,
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride. 
And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love. 
And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
Players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of. 

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart. 

Friday, January 30, 2015

Poet Rod McKuen Died

Rod McKuen died yesterday at age 81.  He was a bestselling poet in the 1970's and my muse during that decade.  My favorite books of his are "Lonesome Cities" and "In Someone's Shadow".  His title poems in both of those books are magical.  His love poems have no equal.

Rest in peace, gentle poet...

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Preface To a Twenty Volume Suicide Note By Imamu Amiri Baraka

Preface To a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
By Imamu Amiri Baraka

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way 
The ground opens up and envelopes me 
Each time I go out to walk the dog. 
Or the broad edged silly music the wind 
Makes when I run for a bus... 

Things have come to that. 

And now, each night I count the stars. 
And each night I get the same number. 
And when they will not come to be counted, 
I count the holes they leave. 

Nobody sings anymore. 

And then last night I tiptoed up 
To my daughter's room and heard her 
Talking to someone, and when I opened 
The door, there was no one there... 
Only she on her knees, peeking into 

Her own clasped hands


Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Opal by Amy Lowell

By Amy Lowell

You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.

I sincerely thank those of you who have stuck with me over the years of my poetry obsession and rants. I appreciate and love you all and wish you all a happy, healthy, 2015.

Marion ��