WELCOME. Take a moment to kick off your shoes, relax, and refill your cup. Enjoy some poetry and a bit of art. Browse through the assorted offerings, and hopefully you'll find something helpful, informative, or just fun. Oh, And chocolate!
I New Year's The solid houses in the mist are thin as tissue paper; the water laps slowly at the rocks; and the ducks from the north are here at rest on the grey ripples. The company in which we went so free of care, so carelessly, has scattered. Good-bye, to you who lie behind in graves, to you who galloped proudly off! Pockets and heart are empty. This is the autumn and our harvest-- such as it is, such as it is-- the beginnings of the end, bare trees and barren ground; but for us only the beginning: let the wild goat's horn and the silver trumpet sound! Reason upon reason to be thankful: for the fruit of the earth, for the fruit of the tree, for the light of the fire, and to have come to this season. The work of our hearts is dust to be blown about in the winds by the God of our dead in the dust but our Lord delighting in life (let the wild goat's horn and the silver trumpet sound!) our God Who imprisons in coffin and grave and unbinds the bound. You have loved us greatly and given us Your laws for an inheritance, Your sabbaths, holidays, and seasons of gladness, distinguishing Israel from other nations-- distinguishing us above the shoals of men. And yet why should we be remembered-- if at all--only for peace, if grief is also for all? Our hopes, if they blossom, if they blossom at all, the petals and fruit fall. You have given us the strength to serve You, but we may serve or not as we please; not for peace nor for prosperity, not even for length of life, have we merited remembrance; remember us as the servants You have inherited.
from: The Complete Poems of Charles Reznikoff. Copyright 1976.
On average, odd years have been the best for me. I’m at a point where everyone I meet looks like a version of someone I already know. Without fail, fall makes me nostalgic for things I’ve never experienced. The sky is molting. I don’t know if this is global warming or if the atmosphere is reconfiguring itself to accommodate all the new bright suffering. I am struck by an overwhelming need to go to Iceland. Despite all awful variables, we are still full of ideas as possible as unsexed fruit. I was terribly sorry to be the one to explain to the first graders the connection between the sunset and pollution. On Venus you and I are not even a year old. Then there were two skies. The one we fly through and the one we bury ourselves in. I appreciate my wide beveled spatula which fulfills the moment I realized I would grow up and own such things. I am glad I do not yet want sexy bathroom accessories. Such things. In the story we were together every time. On his wedding day, the stone in his chest not fully melted but enough. Sometimes I feel like there are birds flying out of me.
Hosted by: Opinions of a Wolf. 
From: A Year of Feminist Classics.
The Old Year's gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they're here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall--
A guest to every heart's desire,
And now he's nought at all.
Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
Are things identified;
But time once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year's Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay— Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves us here. Oh stay, oh stay, One little hour, and then away. The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes to wake; Yet one hour more of jest and song For his familiar sake. Oh stay, oh stay, One mirthful hour, and then away. The kindly year, his liberal hands Have lavished all his store. And shall we turn from where he stands, Because he gives no more? Oh stay, oh stay, One grateful hour, and then away. Days brightly came and calmly went, While yet he was our guest; How cheerfully the week was spent! How sweet the seventh day's rest! Oh stay, oh stay, One golden hour, and then away. Dear friends were with us, some who sleep Beneath the coffin-lid: What pleasant memories we keep Of all they said and did! Oh stay, oh stay, One tender hour, and then away. Even while we sing, he smiles his last, And leaves our sphere behind. The good old year is with the past; Oh be the new as kind! Oh stay, oh stay, One parting strain, and then away.