Image description: the sun and sky as seen through the geometric angular patterns of a bridge.
[…] the work of poetry shows us where we are: it imagines us above the labyrinth in which we are lost, shows us the problems and the solutions in their wholeness. It complicates; it welcomes. As a community, and as a practice, and as a literary art, it opens and it does not close. Jennifer Baker, Arc Poetry Magazine Spring No. 103, May 2024
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round--
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone--
This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
by Emily Dickinson
Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?
Rose Kennedy, Times to Remember
Sometimes, Number One, you just have to bow to the absurd.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: the Next Generation
All fruits do not ripen in one season.
Laure Junot: Duchess of Abrantès & Wife of General Junot During the Napoleonic
When I was shooting with collodion, I wasn’t just snapping a picture. I was fashioning, with fetishistic ceremony, an object whose ragged black edges gave it the appearance of having been torn from time itself.”
Sally Mann, Hold Still: A Memoir with Photographs
It's amazing how the world begins to change through the eyes of a cup of coffee!
DONNA A. FAVORS
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