Celebrating the Written Word
A friend’s recent Facebook post charmingly insinuated that Thomas Jefferson’s love of books and reading could, in part, be attributed to the absence then of the Internet and other electronic distractions that plague us in our time. Later the same
Cupid and Covid With masks, Vaccination, Distancing, Handwashing, Remote working, And quarantine, We beat Covid – Or so we thought. But the virus still won. Cupid didn’t stand a chance, Even at ten thousand miles … Abie Alexander Greenbelt, Maryland
Call it pareidolia or what you will, but the clouds over my residence this afternoon appeared to be an ominously accurate representation of my horror and intense grief – nothing less – over the events unfolding in Ukraine, especially because
There they stand, in wary lines, Clutching to their hearts, Or in tightly gripped bags, Bank statements, bills, Tax returns, certificates, Credit reports, checks, And even junk mail. But how much more we cling In our innards to biases, Racial
Vessel balanced atop, Child at the hip, The woman straggles Barefoot for miles each day. At the roadside tap, Their pots in queue, Children squabble, Waiting for the daily dribble. Or heaving at the rope, At the communal well, Feet
Being under the weather is never a pleasant experience, but one advantage, if it can be called that, is that it magically puts extra time on one’s hands which was never there before. So, when I found myself housebound in
Kabul has fallen. Lacking cable TV at home (a conscious decision), I woke up before the crack of dawn this morning (August 16, 2021) to be able to watch the 5:00 AM news on the BBC (my only reliable international
Shini-tai (死に体) When will you laugh again? Or smile that impish smile? We wrestled first with the miles And the ocean between us. Then, stepped in the pandemic, The gigantic, elephantine sumotori, Slamming our puny selves, And pushing and shoving
Under Nature’s Heel As a schoolkid, I scoffed When I read of saffron monks Sweeping the ground before them, Lest they step unawares on ants. Earthworms basking In the morning sun, On the warm cemented path That splits the cold,
The Celestial Dandelion You, delicate orb Of distilled beauty, That is gone by dusk, Or a careless step. Wordless you hold In your dainty globe, More wisdom than A million tomes. You beam at those Three score and tens Who