A critic said what poets write about
Is rubbish, it’s how they write that matters —
And that no one can write well about love.
The nonsense of a literary tout,
Who delights in poetry he shatters
With a crippling whip in a satin glove.
I don’t remember our first kiss, the kite
She’d made was loose and sailing out of sight.
It was probably then, on our first date,
When the only thing to do was to wait
For the kite’s return, like a falcon called —
Embracing, we felt tongues and lips scald.
The moisture and heat since then are the same,
Without diminution, beyond a name.
When You Change Names To Protect The Innocent
City of Bees Plough. Bees are now active in our garden. I watched some cover themselves in pollen yesterday, diving into rose of Sharon blossoms on the bush that shades our patio table, and buzzing past my nose as I was enjoying my lunch
Fire clouds spark 710,117 lightning strikes in western Canada in 15 hours San Francisco Chronicle. Handy diagram
The newest MAGA app is tied to a Bannon-allied Chinese billionaire South China Morning Post (which has a “content partnership” with Politico (!)).
Pacific Fleet Commander Says He Has a Duty To Prevent Seizure of Taiwan Sea Power
Lord Monboddo was known for two things: exercising naked and the theory that orangutans were, in fact, humans too lazy to learn how to speak
Alice Neel’s career as a struggling typist, stenographer, and painter raises a question: How do broke, self-supporting female artists do it? Artists
