“‘It suddenly struck me the other day,’ continued Bernard, ‘that it might be possible to be an adult all the time.’” (Aldous Huxley, 94) In 1963 when I was an undergraduate at a midwestern university, a famous poet (at that time such a thing still existed) was spending a year on campus as Poet in […]
Oh Brave New World That Has Such Cornholes in It Read More »
The following poem was written by one of the Move Mountains Project: San Luis participants, Ayla. She wrote this during a poetry workshop. With her permission, we have reprinted it here. Thank you, Ayla, for sharing your poetry and your soul with us. ——————————– My Water Poem By Ayla I am water And I come
If you come into any restaurant in a sour mood, or if you only have just enough money in your pockets to get the daily special, then do all of us in the restaurant industry a big favor and go home. Don’t be a rude guest. When guests walk through front doors being held open
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Saying goodbye to you Is like saying goodbye to my reflection Every morning after careful inspection Of each line and wrinkle I will forget I have Throughout the course of the day Seeing you unexpectedly Is like electrons sparking off a copper plate There’s no debate We had a connection And electric charge Discharging perfection
“The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is an example of the eternal seductiveness of life.” –Jean Giraudoux If you have a thriving garden, there’s an orgy in your backyard. Flowers are the sex organs of most plants* and their perfume may be what first brings the revelers. Many flowers—from trees, shrubs, annuals
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I’m always scared when I first point down range, thoughts racing, imagining every grisly scenario, “What if it misfires and blows off my hand?” Or my face. Deep breath in, index on trigger, deep breath out, and BOOM! Momentary surprise when sound echoes through the protective earmuffs, sudden images of backyard boys with toy rifles and coonskin caps
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