Journal

Remind us again,
brave friend.
What countries may we
sing into?
What lines should we all
be crossing?
What lines might we dare to cross,
and what songs might we hear,
that can deepen our days?
– Paul Robeson

I bow to the sky,
seamless and blue,
the mystical sunlight
filtering through
my church in the pines
here by this creek
with rocks that can sing
and devas that speak
a secret language beyond sound
in praise of hallowed ground.
– Kirtana

The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble – to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. I produce nothing but words; I consume nothing but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being utterly useless in the calculations of the culture at large I become useful, at last, to myself.
– Philip Connors

Words cannot begin to describe the beauty, richness, healing power, joy and nourishment of – say, for example, a cloudy morning, the wind, a friendship, kind parents, great teachers, the existence of music or the shades of color we call green.
– Jason Espada

If you want me to die
Then hand me no poison
Take away all my words instead
If you want me to live
Then don’t give me air to breathe
But cover my entire being
In fragrant emotions instead…
– Anita Limbu Moktan

I haven’t written a single poem
in months.
I’ve lived humbly, reading the paper,
pondering the riddle of power
and the reasons for obedience.
I’ve watched sunsets
(crimson, anxious),
I’ve heard the birds grow quiet
and night’s muteness.
I’ve seen sunflowers dangling
their heads at dusk, as if a careless hangman
had gone strolling through the gardens.
September’s sweet dust gathered
on the windowsill and lizards
hid in the bends of walls.
I’ve taken long walks,
craving one thing only:
lightning,
transformation,
you.
– Adam Zagajewski

You were like every human being on the planet in that what you saw in the person you loved most was the person you were frightened of most, which is to say yourself, and so I guess the world is full of twins, beings who are attracted to themselves even as they’re repelled by and drawn to that same-only-different equation.
– Hilton Als

Sometimes my town is deserted. The streets are dark except for a luminous bookstore window. Inside is a poet I loved in my early days. Sometimes she’s talking to a younger version of herself, and they’re sipping wine in unison.
– David Keplinger