“For Joan”

lboogie81:

Beautiful Poetry

Originally posted on Cosmic Heroism:

My grandma returned

to tell me one last story

about how she met

the man she loved,

how it depended on

the weather, her dress,

how she looked at him

and he at her.

 

It was a story of

love and contingency,

the thousand factors

which added up

to this unlikely life:

but for her dress and

the clouds overhead,

I would not exist.

 

She sat right there,

just beside me,

like she used to

when I was a child.

I remember every detail,

but have no idea

what it all meant -

it was just a good story.

 

Maybe we do not need

to moralise or seek

the meaning of it all,

maybe life is best lived

listening to good stories;

stories about the weather

and what she wore

and how they fell in love.

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Transient Beauty

Originally posted on The Secret Map:

“Nothing is static. Everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart.” – Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club.

Nothing is static, as fictitious character Tyler Durden says in the novel Fight Club. Certainly not in Seoul, a city whose internal cogs move so fast it wouldn’t know how to slow down, continuously and rapidly evolving. So too for the country’s seasons, which are indeed distinct, yet vastly over-proportioned in the extreme ends of Summer and Winter. Spring doesn’t last long.

The first warm winds of the year allow many things to bloom in Korea. The first empty rice wine bottles of the season sprout all over the country’s convenience store seating. The unveiling of the lower halves of the nation’s young women mirror the covering of all things flesh-related in the old. Floral arrangements are furiously installed in any green space around the cities as the first minute buds on the trees begin…

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Gallery

What’s Wrong With Poetry Books for Children: A Teacher’s Lament – Education Week Teacher

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What’s Wrong With Poetry Books for Children: A Teacher’s Lament – Education Week Teacher.

 

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Scatter Poem

lboogie81:

This is s beautiful poem!

Originally posted on A Sign Of Life:

Compartmentalization  is the term my
mother uses to explain what I’m doing
when I force every demon into a box
in my head and place it high on a shelf

where it will never see the light of my
consciousness. It makes me feel sligh-
tly better when I can’t properly feel at
all, and every bitter thought, every offense

taken, every brewing outrage is muted
and eventually “forgotten”, lost in the
rows and columns of other “forgotten”
negativities. It worked for many years

too long, until the boxes weighed
too much for the weak little shelf,
and they

t

u

m

b

l

e

d

down and spilled open, scattering

all of the badness I tried

so hard to keep locked up.

Rage feasted upon my heart

and fears devoured my thoughts

like so many ravenous

nightmares.

Try as I might to restore
order by scooping up the
runaway pity
and chasing after…

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On Learning How To Breathe

Originally posted on Traveling Seeds:

Poem entry for the Weekly Writing Challenge

The first time I breathed

today (for those others

surely could not have been but mere imitations!)

I felt it, really felt it,

flow into my nasal passages

as I stole some of the passing

gust of wind.

The breath, full of all

those eternal argon particles

and stardust pieces (but

mostly nothing -

at all)

tumbles into my lungs (

expanding, e x p a n d i n g)

and finally I feel what

I had been missing all day.

Connection, life, wealth, and

eternity,

all contained within this

one curious handful of air.

Imagine that! The history

of the universe, contained for

moments at a time

within my own being…

it’s only right that I should

feel so lucky.

Exhale now, but slowly;

the first true breath of the day

is always one

to savor.

I wonder what the

next…

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