What feels like good reason

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R a p t   R a p t o r

Falcon Bronze :: Bowling Green State University

Bowling Green, Ohio

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That the deepest wound is the least unique
surprises nobody but the living.
Secretly, and with what feels like good reason,
we’re the pain the people we love
put the people they no longer love in.

= Graham Foust =

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Happy Friday

While I sail I sing

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H i g h   T i m e

Times Square

New York, New York

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Today the sky is two and two

With white strokes and strains of the blue

Round a ring, around a ring

And while I sail (must listen) I sing

The skylark is my cousin and he

Is known to men more than me

... when the cry within

Says Go on then I go on

Till the longing is less and the good gone

But down drop, if it says Stop,

To the all-a-leaf of the treetop

And after that off the bough

I am so very, O so very glad

That I do think there is not to be had

The blue wheat-acre is underneath

And the corn is corded and shoulders its sheaf,

The ear in milk, lush the sash,

And crush-silk poppies aflash,

The blood-gush blade-gash

Flame-rash rudred

Bud shelling or broad-shed

Tatter-tassel-tangled and dingle-a-dangled

Dandy-hung daisy head.

And down ... the furrow dry

Sunspurge and oxeye

And lace-leaved lovely

Foam-tuft fumitory

Through the velvety wind V-winged

To the nest's nook I balance and buoy

With a sweet joy of a sweet joy,

Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joy

Of a sweet -- a sweet -- sweet -- joy.

= Gerard Manley Hopkins =

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Happy Thursday

Shining suspension

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F i r s t   B l u s h

Old Brick Church Graveyard

Jenkinsville, South Carolina

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The apple on its bough is her desire, --
Shining suspension, mimic of the sun.
The bough has caught her breath up, and her voice,
Dumbly articulate in the slant and rise
Of branch on branch above her, blurs her eyes.
She is prisoner of the tree and its green fingers.
And so she comes to dream herself the tree,
The wind possessing her, weaving her young veins,
Holding her to the sky and its quick blue,
Drowning the fever of her hands in sunlight.
She has no memory, nor fear, nor hope
Beyond the grass and shadows at her feet.

= Hart Crane =

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Happy Wednesday

Nothing that is anywhere

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E y e   D o

Defunct Funeral Home

Columbia, South Carolina

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You meant more than life to me. I lived through
you not knowing, not knowing I was living.
I learned that you called for me. I came to where
you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.
No one to appreciate me. The legality of it
upset a chair. Many times to celebrate
we were called together and where
we had been there was nothing there,
nothing that is anywhere. We passed obliquely,
leaving no stare. When the sun was done muttering,
in an optimistic way, it was time to leave that there.

Blithely passing in and out of where, blushing shyly
at the tag on the overcoat near the window where
the outside crept away, I put aside the there and now.
Now it was time to stumble anew,
blacking out when time came in the window.
There was not much of it left.
I laughed and put my hands shyly
across your eyes. Can you see now?
Yes I can see I am only in the where
where the blossoming stream takes off, under your window.
Go presently you said. Go from my window.
I am in love with your window I cannot undermine
it, I said.

= John Ashbery =

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Happy Tuesday

Why should we tarry

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C u r t a i n   C a l l

Late Summer :: From the Passenger Seat

Columbia, South Carolina

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Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling

Calling for you and for me

See, on the portals He's waiting and watching

Watching for you and for me.

Come home, come home

Ye who are weary, come home

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling

Calling, O Sinner, come home.

Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading

Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies

Mercies for you and for me?

Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing

Passing for you and for me

Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming

Coming for you and for me.

Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised

Promised for you and for me

Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon

Pardon for you and for me.

Come home, come home

Ye who are weary, come home

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling

Calling, O sinner, come home.

= Will L. Thompson =

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I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.

Luke 5:32

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Happy Sunday