Sunday Morning BY WALLACE STEVENS I Complacencies of the peignoir, and lateCoffee and oranges in a sunny chair,And the green freedom of a cockatooUpon a rug mingle to dissipateThe holy hush of ancient sacrifice.She dreams a little, and she feels the darkEncroachment of that old catastrophe,As a calm darkens among water-lights.The pungent oranges andContinue reading “Sunday Morning – A Poem”
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling
Practicing gratitude? Perserverence? Taking Responsibility? These are just a few of the tools for maintaining a strong mind. Check out my newest article for tips of fulfilling your goals. In other news, applying for scholarships and glaring starry eyed towards Naropa University.
“A line will take us hours maybe, Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, Our stitching and unstitching have been naught. Better go down upon your marrow bones And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather— For to articulate sweet sounds together Is toContinue reading “That Settles it, “Writing is Hard.” -Yeats”
Naomi Shihab Nye on Kindness and the Art of Living a Compassionate Life
“If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present.”
source: Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
“The Dying of Baal,” A Poem by Helen Wing
“…Oh Syria! With the god of Storm
and Dew now thunder-mute
in Homs, Aleppo, Damascus and Palmyra… “
On the art of journaling, note taking, and recording the world around you. These are my favorite notebooks for daily musings and painting.
I will be confident — not sad sap, sipping quietly in corner bar.
I will be, act, speak with intention.
I will be finished, will shop my novel.
You know how it goes:] the blustery mornings. Watery eyed and minus-7. The frozen pipes and snowed in nights. The red faced wind burns. But look at that, the stars have never been so sharp –outlined in the thin air like diamonds under keen inspection.
Confessions of an Antisocial Writer. Cafes? Don’t do it. For he love of all things Didion! I mean, I get it, there is this undeniable sex appeal. This intrique: scattering your notes across that old bistro set, the heady demitasse begging for your lips: what’s the WiFi code? Nah, I write longhand.
I’m not here to pretend to be some guru or act like I know anymore than you do because, believe me, the older I get, the less I know.
Funny how that works when the world is running wild with “twenty-somethings” peddling Nirvana and life-coaching: really just give me $99 and I promise you’ll feel better. Go ahead, try it.
Novelist. Reader. Archaeologist.
After high school I hit the road. A spontaneous bus ride to Mexico City led me into the hazy mountains, the deep emerald forests of Chiapas where I discovered the beautiful and heartbreaking world of the Maya (yes, they still exist) and found something deeply rooted, down in my heart of hearts: A need to be part of something greater, to commit myself to people less fortunate.
I mean, it’s not cheating if nothing happens. Oh, but emotions run deep. Which begs the question: What’s worse, an emotional or a physical affair?
I’m afraid of you Standing too close We’ll fall into eternity
“I’m now making myself as scummy as I can. Why? I want to be a poet, and I’m working at turning myself into a seer. You won’t understand any of this, and I’m almost incapable of explaining it to you. The idea is to reach the unknown by the derangement of all the senses. ItContinue reading “Rimbaud On Sacrifice and Art”