Billy Collins, Billy Collins

 "All the trees were throwing fireworks

of blossom, the air was thick
with pollen and the brand-new smell of leaves.
We drove back roads in the watermelon dusk,
then tangled around each other, delirious
as honeybees working wisteria."

I just took a long sunset walk and it's made me all wistful for things I don't have, like long hair, laughter that rings like bells, and a hand to hold that doesn't want to let go. Best out of three isn't a bad thing to hope for.

"Howl"

I love all things Beat. So of course, I'm going nuts over this film about Allen Ginsberg and his anthem for the Beat Generation, "Howl":



And of course I can't mention the beats without a little nod to Jack:

"The only truth is music." ~Jack Kerouac

And of course I can't think of "Howl" without thinking of Florence + The Machine:

Summer Sundays

A great thing about being employed again is that it gives weekends their magic back. After a busy week of work, that sparkling Friday evening arrives, bringing a few days where anything is possible.

"Primrose"

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole--
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks--
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree--
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes--
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
~William Carlos Williams

Because sometimes I stay up late (or early).

Some things in my head today.

"Full Moon"
She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers
Some one had brought her from Ispahan
And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms,
And the coral hafted feather fan:
As she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight,
And skipped in the pool of the moon as she ran.

She cared not a rap for all the big planets,
For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran
And all the big planets cared nothing for her
That small impertinent charlatan,
But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight
And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.
~Vita Sackville-West

Thank you. That is all. (For now.)

Some things in my brain today.

"What We Want"

What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names--
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there
even in full sun.

~Linda Pastan

ee cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

ee cummings' birthday is today. I thought this was worthy of posting despite my recent lack of inspiration.

Inspiration is so fleeting, sometimes...

I have this same dream.

My Dream
by Ogden Nash

Here is a dream.
It is my dream—
My own dream—
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt,
Then I dreamt that my true love
unkempt it.