Bhikshuni Sela: The Gate
Ever since I invited my own death into bed with me, I no longer feel lonely or afraid of the dark.
William Blake: The Human Abstract
Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor, And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings Peace, … Continue reading
Abby Zimet: A Hand Here, A Head There | Israel’s Tremendously Positive War In Gaza
The “systematic effort to empty Gaza of its people,” warns Jordan’s Foreign Minister Ayman Safadi, “will haunt this region (and) define generations to come.”
Elizabeth Romero: Some Things
As if a woman
Should rise from nothing
And think not at all
Mosab Abu Toha: Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear
When you open my ear, touch it
gently.
My mother’s voice lingers somewhere inside.
John Feffer: Rescuing Realpolitik from Henry Kissinger
Kissinger is gone. Let’s put to rest his toxic legacy as well by purging geopolitics of his antiquated notions of amorality.
Lisa Suhair Majaj: Living in History
Whatever the skins we live in,
the names we choose, the gods we claim or disavow,
may we be like grains of sand on the beach at night
Yehoshua November: Hearing Roy Orbison in a Mikvah in Salem, MA
To submerge beneath the water,
the mystics add,
is to return to the Divine womb,
the way the soul returns to the Heavens each night
as the body dozes.
Michael Simms: Writing Prompt # 8 – Start a file of your favorite short passages
Whenever I need inspiration, I go back to a collection of my favorite poems and prose passages that I keep in an electronic file on my desktop. They consistently remind me why I love writing and reading.
Video: Birdsong | The dying whistled language of the Hmong people in northern Laos
Exploring the whistling traditions of the Hmong people of northern Laos, whose language straddles the boundary between music and speech, this film witnesses a collision of ancient tradition with modern … Continue reading
Patricia A. Nugent: Dog Poop
His veiled threat obviously didn’t shut me up; I can’t let it. As Audre Lourde reminds us, “Your silence will not protect you.”
Robert Frost: The Wood-Pile
And it was older sure than this year’s cutting,
Or even last year’s or the year’s before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken.
Edna St. Vincent Millay: The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver
A wind with a wolf’s head
Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat on the floor.
