For pleasure, Fortune, a designer, weaves.We are her stuff—yarn, thread, and loom, ideal.Her tapestry seems flawless; she conceivesit cunningly, attended by her wheel, whose mechanism works, apparently.But might there be a wheel of Providencethat goes around, beyond contingency? It waits . . . . Continue Reading »
He is a churchyard. In his grasses, crossesHave blossomed once again, like quartered rosesThat know the real crowns are made of thorns.Redolent cedar, these, both kings and thronesIn one, and no, they aren’t marking graves.Here is no fear and trembling. No one grieves.No sickness unto death, no . . . . Continue Reading »
Where I live drought desecrates,Heat scorches fields, crops wither,Wasted while elsewhere floodsDevour bridges to rip asunderFriend and family. Things fallApart. The parched earth cracks,The chasms widen to swallowWhole our fractured world. Here, before us, the abyss,Yet, if you can, imagine . . . . Continue Reading »
From reminiscing about a less technological past to an intriguing story of a family of moles, these books are great reads for the post-Christmas holidays. Continue Reading »