All my rainsby Rose Mary Boehm IWarm rain in the Caribbean,giant bathtub abruptlyturned over by a tropical giant.Rain that hurts. Rain that washesaway topsoil, flattening crab claw,golden trumpet and scorpion orchid,leaving the waxrose gasping for air,fills all dents in the hotel patios.Tennis courts become square lakesof reddish, sandy mud. Every passingcar’s a drencher. Take offContinue reading “All my rains by Rose Mary Boehm”
Monthly Archives: September 2020
Rain by Frances Shaw
Rain by Frances Shaw When in the night the storm rises, I will run before it To the long shore, And there await the arms Slanting toward me— The strong gray arms of the rain. And I will lean on them, And be enchanted, And whispered to By the soft insistent voice Of the rain.Continue reading “Rain by Frances Shaw”
Rain in the Hills by William Haskell Simpson
Rain in the Hillsby William Haskell Simpson Were I the rainComing over the hills— I should be gladThat my cool fingers could ease the little fevers of dusty water-holes,And caress curled leaves of the cottonwoods. The herd,Pawing, bellowing, would let me quiet them,Standing in fresh pools by dusty water-holes– If I were the rainComing over theContinue reading “Rain in the Hills by William Haskell Simpson”
Streets in Shanghai by Tomas Tranströmer
Streets in Shanghaiby Tomas TranströmerTranslated by Patty Crane 1 The white butterfly in the park is being read by many. I love that cabbage-moth as if it were a fluttering corner of truth itself! At dawn the running crowds set our quiet planet in motion. Then the park fills with people. To each one, eightContinue reading “Streets in Shanghai by Tomas Tranströmer”
Autumn moon by Li Bai
Autumn moon by Li Bai Translated by Ezra Pound The jeweled steps are already quite white with dew, It is so late the dew soaks my gauze stockings, And I let down the crystal curtain And watch the moon through the clear autumn PAINTING: “Pine in moonlight” by Ong Schan Tchow.
Often I Imagine the Earth by Dan Gerber
Often I Imagine the Earthby Dan Gerber Often I imagine the earththrough the eyes of the atoms we’re made of—atoms, peculiaratoms everywhere—no me, no you, no opinions,no beginning, no middle, no end,soaring together like thoseancient Chinese birdshatched miraculously with only one wing,helping each other fly home. IMAGE: “Jian birds” from Sancai Tuhui, an encyclopedia compiledContinue reading “Often I Imagine the Earth by Dan Gerber”
Midnight and Thirty-Two Maharajahs Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India by Graham Wood
Midnight and Thirty-Two MaharajahsJodhpur, Rajasthan, Indiaby Graham Wood For Rosemary Midnight, and thirty-two maharajahslook down from the family pedigree,corralled above you while you sleep.On the mantel, a clock ticks in quietsyncopation with your breathing—tomorrow and our departure edgetheir way towards the dawn.Here, this nightyou’ve notched up fifty yearsserene in sleep below these royal ghosts,oblivious of theirContinue reading “Midnight and Thirty-Two Maharajahs Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India by Graham Wood”
The Jain Bird Hospital in Delhi by William Meredith
The Jain Bird Hospital in Delhiby William Meredith Outside the hotel window, unenlightened pigeonsweave and dive like Stukas on their prey,apparently some tiny insect brother.(In India, the attainment of nonviolenceis considered a proper goal for human beings.)If one of the pigeons should fly into the illusion of my window and survive (the body is noContinue reading “The Jain Bird Hospital in Delhi by William Meredith”
Train to Agra by Vandana Khanna
Train to Agra by Vandana Khanna I want to reach you— in that city where the snow only shimmers silver for a few hours. It has taken seventeen years. This trip, these characters patterned in black ink, curves catching on the page like hinges, this weave of letters fraying like the lines on my palm,Continue reading “Train to Agra by Vandana Khanna”
Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser
Porch Swing in Septemberby Ted Kooser The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sunthat bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushionwhose flowers have faded, like those of summer,and a small brown spider has hung out her webon a line between porch post and chainso that no one may swing without breaking it.She is sayingContinue reading “Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser”
POETRY and PLACES 