After Meditating On My Front Porch
I again realize that mindfulness is noticing
stillness, how the ink [Read more…] about Poetry: After Meditating On My Front Porch
Poetry
New York’s Black Othello, Ira Aldridge
On March 25, 1833, the celebrated Shakespearian actor Edmund Kean collapsed on stage at London’s Covent Garden while playing the role of Othello. He died shortly thereafter.
Sixteen days later, New York-born Ira Frederick Aldridge – known as the ‘Negro Tragedian’ – was asked to replace him as the Moor. His chequered career in England coincided with the final push towards the abolition of the slave trade there. [Read more…] about New York’s Black Othello, Ira Aldridge
Poetry: Hunger as Focus
Hunger as Focus
Wads of newspapers
New York Times
Glens Falls Post-Star
Albany Times-Union
With flames to pulp
kindling ignored news
Favors votes to get
dinner on the table
How Twitchell Lake Was Named, And A Poem
The Twitchell Lake History Committee is working on documenting the story of Twitchell Lake in Big Moose, NY, and how it was named, with an account of the individual camps, hotels, and highlights down through the years. Twitchell Lake is 5 to 6 miles south of the old Lake Champlain Road, now under the Stillwater Reservoir in Northern Herkimer County. [Read more…] about How Twitchell Lake Was Named, And A Poem
Poetry: The Life Waiting for Us (For Joseph Campbell)
The Life Waiting for Us
(For Joseph Campbell)
You are not living unless you
have at least one crisis before
breakfast. The crisis of adventure.
The crisis of receiving supernatural aid.
The crisis of not receiving it.
The crisis of meeting with the Goddess
and being spit on. Or being embraced like
a child. The crisis of faith that is not knowing
how much faith is enough, and when
faith becomes its own form of doubt. The crisis
of atonement with the Father. The crisis of returning
home again and again and again, until every person
knows that you left in the first place. The crisis of
not having a home to leave. The crisis of justice ringing
in your ear. The crisis of death on your footstep.
The crisis of losing the people in your life
that make it worth living. The crisis of the times and
the crisis of the past. The crisis of the storm brewing
even when it has already faded into the history books
of bored students. The crisis of boredom! The life we’ve
planned and the life waiting for us.
Poetry: Back at the Cabin
Back at the Cabin
Breeze soughs among
uphill poplar stands
Newborn Rachel’s clothes
hang out to Sun-dry
White-throated sparrow
drops her final note
whose loud lack haunts
consciousness all day
Expectation unfulfilled
pattern recognition lost