When this is over, I don’t want the traffic to come back. I want all this extra time with my family. I want to hold on to this quietness. Geoff McFetridge, artist
Category: Uncategorized
“Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.” — Art of Quotation
“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children’s children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.” —Theodore Roosevelt
“I no longer have a relationship with my calendar.” — Art of Quotation
We closed Parnassus Books, the bookstore I co-own in Nashville, on the same day all the stores around us closed. I can’t tell you when that was because I no longer have a relationship with my calendar. All the days are now officially the same. My business partner Karen and I talked to the staff […]
via “I no longer have a relationship with my calendar.” — Art of Quotation
SOLAR PROBE, by Muhammad Zaheer
Thy Corona Heat can render and ignite
Yonder placed;
Carbon-Carbon-Composite sheath
And every cocoon placed at yon
Farther at Six n two million
O’Helios!
To Subdue the Sun; in this fun
One should not spun.
I do importune and the rest must learn
What we require is nothing!
But a real
Refractory.
My NASA dons!
Don’t be forlorn.
Do act upon my humble song.
I keep the all we need at all
Come and take that metallum mine!
That is to say, my heart along!
Ben-Hur: From Here to Eternity, by Lampropoulou Athanasia
Cleft in twain now looking for my M(ark)
launching of my Odyssey but there awaits the narc!
“Be a goodfella now,” he said
“not a raging bull” in a titanic set.
Lost in translation and bearing my se7en sins
I’ve been searching for my dolce vita ever since.
Being a pariah among parasites
I now count 12 years a slave in wuthering heights.
And although I try hard to be the artist that they seek,
I only get identified with Zorba the Greek.
Pan’s labyrinth lies ahead
But I’ve got the gladiator with me my friend.
Stepping upon a shape of water
A desert flower emerged.
“Be braveheart my dear when you get discharged.”
The best years of our lives are yet to come
but I only long for the silence of the lamb.
The sting is deeply rooted in the skin I live in,
The English patient they call me, the nonliving.
I once heard that one flew over the cuckoo’s nest
but he was left all stranded in the west;
not even a streetcar named desire to save his soul
just the right scapegoat to pigeonhole.
So there he was, commissioned to kill a mockingbird
a walking carmagnole with no safe bet.
He tossed three coins in the fountain-his ex machina appeared.
“Will you help me my fair lady?” he said afeared.
“This west side story is your destiny
but beware on the waterfront of the upcoming mutiny!”
The Occident is no place for a godfather.
He will rise, he will thrive, he will fall-like any other.
His empire – gone with the wind now
looking for his Gigi, his eternal vow.
Comfort Me, by Saar Arreola
I hav a body
I hav a soul
But I’m not of this world
I don’t belong
People are tainted
And mislead
I’m always gonna be wronged
Where’s the love and compassion
Where’s the kindness and joy
Theres jus death and destruction
Unfairness, corruption, and pain
Why not end my life
And reclaim it for my own
I can’t even see what’s in store for me
I can’t get past this mess
That I continuously see on the TV
With all the assholes that cause the fuckery
My mind gambles with
Who’s gonna be next
Will it be me?
Or my trans friend next to me
Who’s life will be stolen
By the hands of another human
Being human disgusts me
This is not my kind
Humankind is being both
Condescending at the most
I don’t get it
It hurts me everyday
Why the hate?
WHY THE HATE??
So I transcend myself
And make my body my own
Agender and proud
To call my body my soul’s home
But I hav to confess
I’m a mess
Why live
Wen I’m going to die anyway
Why go thru this pain
Jus to get thru another day?
Why not jus take my own life
Turn off my lights
So I can go to a peaceful place
N let all the pain fade away
This is selfish
So they say
But in the end
All I hav is myself
So y can’t I do this?
I’m scared
Regardless of my death wish
Wat would happen after I die?
I don’t want God or my family
To think I’m selfish
Or a failure
I don’t want to go to “hell”
But what does the pain n sadness in my heart suggest?
Why live with a mind full of distress
Idk
I can’t see what’s in front of me
I can’t think clearly
I don’t know how to do life correctly
I’m aging day by day
Slowly wasting away
Is this wat u call being grown up?
So why do I wait and procrastinate?
Why can’t I do and say things right?
I feel like a waste of space
I feel like why even try
Wen everything I do turns out wrong
I can’t predict the future
I can’t see the end result
How can I go from point A to B wen the path is unknown to me
Take it day by day they say
But procrastination takes place
Then what?
Priorities are a must
It’s hard to make up my mind
Idk what I really want in life
I feel dead inside
N all the bad things I c
Increases this feeling I hav in me
I’m weak
I’m weak
I don’t know how to go about life with this feeling
I know
I need help
But even with help
I can’t see how it’s going to work out for me
How do I change my way of being?
How do I change my thinking?
How can I be more than who I am now?
How can I make my family proud?
For the first time in my life
I need God to comfort me.
Genre: LGBT, Hate, Dark, Sad, Death, Purpose, Life, God
Slow Motion, by Hannah Else
Genres: Love, philosophical, relationships
If I’d only one wish
I’d wish for time.
For all our hours to roll into none
so we could finally bask
in the glorious moments
for longer than they last.
I’d want the minutes to never start
or stop. The tick of a clock to be lost.
So we could be one, never-ending,
continuous love.
eyes on you, by Brooke Nind
trying to fly under the radar doesn’t work out
when you can’t squeak by without a squeak
you feel invisible most of the time, yet you
draw the most attention to yourself with these
little, insignificant movements of your body
the squeaking of a chair in class as you shift your
weight from one side to the other, or try to sit up
straighter; it brings eyes to your blushing face
that no one’s looked up at in a while
we’re not always noticed for the things we’re
proud of, but we’re often noticed for what we’re
embarrassed of. however, there’s also these
little in-betweens- you’re just living and breathing,
and you’re noticed. isn’t that comforting?
Genres: inspirational, hope, society
link: https://myhighschooladventures.travel.blog/2020/03/14/eyes-on-you-poem-by-me/
POETRY READING: A Giant Moment, by Jean Buschmann
Performed by Allison Kampf
POEM:
BORED in San Jose, our home in the South Bay, we ventured to The City that day.
– It wasn’t ordinary, no way!
Sunny and bright, not a cloud in sight.
– For the foggy City By The Bay, that’s rare for May, let alone April Fools’ Day!
But it was no joke, so we were seriously stoked at the thought of some fun in the sun.
The grand opening of PacBell Park was our mark – an exhibition game between the
Yankees and Giants. Otherwise known as “The Spankees,” to their defiants.
As a native New Yorker raised in Queens, it was The Mets for whom I placed all bets.
But as if to put our love to the test, my Nor-Cal man loved The Bronx Bombers best.
– And no, that’s not jest.
So that was the original aim of our quest, but before long we’d learn it might not be best.
– Since such seemed the goal of all the rest.
And so, with slightly deflated hearts, we parked by The Palace of Fine Arts.
– Far far away from where we’d hoped to spend that day.
We then began to stroll around, stopping at every fascinating sight we found.
– Talking and laughing along the way, we could hardly believe we’d walked to the Bay!
Not ’til we saw my blistered feet, were we finally ready to take a seat.
That’s when we noticed something funny – all the ATMs were out of money!
“Uh-oh” we said to one another, ‘cuz neither of us had stashed cash for the other.
Hungry, with nearly no money at all, there was not even a cab for us to call.
That’s when something inside me said, “It’s time to get up and keep moving ahead!”
To that, my hubby scratched his head, not at all sure how I’d endure.
But despite my feet, I wasn’t ready to admit defeat.
As we neared the revered new stadium, out of my mouth came a strange shout…
“When we turn the corner, we’ll get tickets to the game!” – To which my man jokingly retorted,
“Are you insane?”
Then to his shock, I locked eyes on a smiling stranger, who waved me over to his Range Rover.
“I’ve got two tickets, if you need ’em.” He said. “That’d be great…if you can wait.” And so, I explained
our twisted fate.
The stranger stepped right up to the plate. Without so much as a pause, as if completely compelled
by our cause.
When he jotted down his address, I knew that we’d been truly blessed. Then I noticed his wife was
stressed.
So I smiled reassuringly, as if to say – “The check will soon be on the way.”
…And that’s the true story of that April 1st day!
A poetic memory by
POETRY READING: A Scene of Brutal Glory, by Howard W. Robertson
Performed by Allison Kampf
POEM:
After football practice, Dave Malloy, assistant
coach, was sitting in the office of the coach, Jim
Shelby / I was there as well; I don’t remember why
/ without the slightest warning, zany Dave erupted,
bellowed, slammed the tabletop with both his hefty
hands, ejaculating loudly these impassioned words,
“I want to fuck!” / Malloy repeated this, and Shelby
shushed him, since a teenage boy was present, me /
soon after that, Malloy became the coach at New
Geneva High, our bitter rival, we of Fairfield High /
the summer just before my senior season, 1964, I
had an easy job delivering bouquets, arrangements,
wreaths, and other floral merchandise from Baxter’s
Blossoms, located in Fairfield but providing flowers
for all greater New Geneva / my delivery van pulled
up at New Geneva High one afternoon, and I began
unloading many floral products / suddenly Malloy
was there, just grinning at me crazily, eyes merrily
agleam / we talked a bit of this and that, not even
mentioning we’d meet next autumn on opposing
sides of gridiron combat / early in the New Geneva
game that fall, we punted on fourth down / I was the
long-snapper and could release downfield before the
other guys who had to block first / when the punt
returner caught the kick, I was already nearing him
at top speed / suddenly I caught some stream of
energy (let’s call it Ki) and flowed right through the
running back, depositing his body in a broken heap
at Coach Malloy’s large feet while I just trotted off
unscathed and nonchalant / my soft eyes sensed his
crazy stare and joyous grin directed at me all the
way across the field to what was now the line of
scrimmage / next day in the local paper he was
quoted, “Well, I knew when Douglas tore apart my
halfback early on that we were in for one hell of a
game!” / that was the scene of brutal glory, that
god-given moment, gleaming possibly forever /
Pindar said, “What’s man? A shadow’s dream.
God-given gleaming comes, and life is bright.”
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