Poem , in which we are not immortal but our identities dissolve in- to one another and we are only a little bit afraid to call it love
When we’re old and done
When we're old and done How will our love feel? Will we be Anxious, afraid we missed out on What we could have done? Afraid of Looking back and feeling like dry sand? Life seems funny and meaningful when the people Around us are younger and we, unwittingly We become authorities on living They say ...
Meditation on love
Can we imagine a love that is without lack, hence without desire? We sit for a brief meditation on love. Erotic love, parental love, the love for truth, beauty and the good. Imagination that our love is indeed without lack, that the constellation lover - beloved has a value as it is and does not ...
Convenient Store
Convenient Store This one here is a microwave world, we are sheltering our love from love. I sit down in a convenient store. I drink a cup of coffee. I look at the plastic bottles with pink lids standing on the shelves like proud flamingos. They are indestructible promises of freedom, their feet ringed with ...
“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: All of them make me laugh.” — W.H. Auden
A belief is all we have
A belief is all we have to hold on to, some warmth weaning us for darker times when we thicket each other's softest spots, make our fingers lost and blow weightless snow in each other's faces when we make chocolate gestures, blanket soft talk in some rearrangement of tired starlight
Reading: In The Summer by Nizar Qabbani
Nizar Qabbani (1923-1998) was a Syrian diplomat, poet and publisher. His poetic style combines simplicity and elegance in exploring themes of love, eroticism, feminism, religion, and Arab nationalism (Wikipedia). I read a simple love poem, translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown, that sounds unmistakenly Arabic: In the summer In the summer I stretch out on the ...
All is mathematics
The wind is mathematics, and your tear ducts me insisting we continue, the curvature of your smile the rock you sat down on, the ocean that sighed in your stead the proof that life is a theorem, which can never be proven to be one
Reading: Jane by Howard Moss
American poet, dramatist and critic Howard Moss (1922-1987) won the National Book Award in 1972 for his selected poetry. He was the poetry editor of the New Yorker for almost forty years and a great discoverer of poets. Moss also wrote a funny illustrated book of writer's parodies called 'instant lives'. I read 'Jane', a poem ...