Carl Jung: The Rainmaker
There was a drought in a village in China. They sent for a rainmaker who was known to live in the farthest corner of the country, far away.
Haya El-Refai: Laya’s first Eid
When war comes, it steals everything: souls, memories, homes, happiness, love and safety. Instead, it brings fear, blood, death, darkness and terror.
Lindsey Royce: Purification And All That Fuckery
My hovel, my mess—surfaces like baseball mounds, my pubic mound—books papers piled, my checkbook math, an epic fail—cleanliness, godliness—washing the carpet, the body—a good Catholic girl I was scared of … Continue reading
Video: Astronaut Leland Melvin Reads Pablo Neruda’s Love Letter to Earth’s Forests
Anyone who hasn’t been in the Chilean forest doesn’t know this planet. I have come out of that landscape, that mud, that silence, to roam, to go singing through the world.
Percy Bysshe Shelley: Love’s Philosophy
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—
Lara Harb: The meaning of cowardly dogs and other puzzles of Arabic poetry
The evocation of wonder was the main goal of classical Arabic poetry.
Paul Christensen: Late Summer
Time holds everything in its ghostly hands, like someone touching the hot wine glasses on a merchant’s table.
Video: Michael Simms reads five poems of joy and acceptance
Imagine being so in love
The mistakes you make
Keep you on the ground
Imperfect and happy
Bhikshuni Vimala: At the Foot of the Tree
My mother taught me how to sell my youth for money and some sense of power, just as her mother had taught her. At our front door, I answered the … Continue reading
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley: In the Other World
Our beloved lay down and then eloped
to that other world.
Kari Gunter-Seymour: Last Night the Chime Of Tree Frogs
Granny Woman dances
under breeze-shivering branches,
her skirts a waltz of wings,
mouth full of stories.
She has emptied her house of men.
Bhikshuni Chitta: On the Wind
At the top of the mountain, I spread my outer robe on a rock to dry, set down my staff and bowl, took a deep breath, and looked around.
Michael Gregory: This is your mind as green slime mold
mingling molecules and attitudes
sinews and desires platitudes and functions
nervous circuits and circadian rhythms pure crap
and masterful conceptions
Tayve Neese: Still, we wait for sounds of plumage
Still, we wait for sounds of plumage
in this world even angels shun.
