Rain comes with clouds,
with you i feel complete
Isn’t it amazing, what we found?

I'm not asking you to be flawless
To ask for that would only divide;
flaws don’t reduce your worth
or dim your shine.
We don't have to be perfect alone
To work side by side
I'll compensate your flaws
and you'll compensate mine

I've read with one half of one eye
my whole life. I'm 81 now. I was diagnosed
when I was 27 by a renown ophthamologist
in Tulsa to have congenital monocular vision.
He said, "Tod, I'm surprised you can read a
book, let alone get through college." But I
did graduate from Columbia College, Columbia
University. and before that, from Phillips
Andover Academy. How did I do this?
I spent twice as much time reading
as my classmates. I did well at both schools.
To boot, I was one of 15 elected by my 700
classmates to lead Commencement Procession.

I wake up to nothing
       but chirping birds
            and the drip of coffee
                   pouring down,
            and wonder how I feel
       about it all—
             and find it refreshing
       to know I see it
            like a fairy fountain,
       standing tall—
calling me to slip on shoes
    and even walk on air
         if that’s what I choose.

Don’t do to others
what they have done to you.
It will never lift you up.
It will bring you down.
In the end.
Because you lived it.
You should know better.
You’ve become what you despise.



Shell✨🐚

Amado es la palabra que en querer se concreta;
Nervo es la vibración de los nervios del mal.
¡Bendita sea y pura la canción del poeta
que lanzó sin pensar su frase de cristal!...Fraile de los suspiros, celeste anacoreta,
que tienes en blancura l'azúcar y la sal,
muéstrame el lirio puro que sigues en la veta,
y hazme escuchar el eco de tu alma sideral.Generoso y sutil como una mariposa,
encuentra en mí la miel de lo que soy capaz,
y goza en mí la dulce fragancia de la rosa.No busques en mis gestos el alma de mi faz;
quiere lo que se aquieta, busca lo que reposa
y ten, como una joya, la perla de la Paz.

Quel temps de chien ! - il pleut, il neige ;
Les cochers, transis sur leur siège,
Ont le nez bleu.
Par ce vilain soir de décembre,
Qu'il ferait bon garder la chambre,
Devant son feu !

A l'angle de la cheminée
La chauffeuse capitonnée
Vous tend les bras
Et semble avec une caresse
Vous dire comme une maîtresse,
" Tu resteras ! "

Un papier rose à découpures,
Comme un sein blanc sous des guipures.
Voile à demi
Le globe laiteux de la lampe
Dont le reflet au plafond rampe,
Tout endormi.

On n'entend rien dans le silence
Que le pendule qui balance
Son disque d'or,
Et que le vent qui pleure et rôde,
Parcourant, pour entrer en fraude,
Le corridor.

C'est bal à l'ambassade anglaise ;
Mon habit noir est sur la chaise,
Les bras ballants ;
Mon gilet bâille et ma chemise
Semble dresser, pour être mise,
Ses poignets blancs.

Les brodequins à pointe étroite
Montrent leur vernis qui miroite,
Au feu placés ;
A côté des minces cravates
S'allongent comme des mains plates
Les gants glacés.

Il faut sortir ! - quelle corvée !
Prendre la file à l'arrivée  
Et suivre au pas
Les coupés des beautés altières
Portant blasons sur leurs portières
Et leurs appas.

Rester debout contre une porte
A voir se ruer la cohorte
Des invités ;
Les vieux museaux, les frais visages,
Les fracs en coeur et les corsages
Décolletés ;

Les dos où fleurit la pustule,
Couvrant leur peau rouge d'un tulle
Aérien ;
Les dandys et les diplomates,
Sur leurs faces à teintes mates,
Ne montrant rien.

Et ne pouvoir franchir la haie
Des douairières aux yeux d'orfraie
Ou de vautour,
Pour aller dire à son oreille
Petite, nacrée et vermeille,
Un mot d'amour !

Je n'irai pas ! - et ferai mettre
Dans son bouquet un bout de lettre
A l'Opéra.
Par les violettes de Parme,
La mauvaise humeur se désarme :
Elle viendra !

J'ai là l'Intermezzo de Heine,
Le Thomas Grain-d'Orge de Taine,
Les deux Goncourt ;
Le temps, jusqu'à l'heure où s'achève
Sur l'oreiller l'idée en rêve,
Me sera court.

One land, one sky, one sea, one people,
the boundaries that divide us are not on maps,
but in our minds and hearts. There will be
no nations, no money, no jails and prisons.
To heal those who are hurting, there will be
LOVE CENTERS where they will be loved,
not punished. All 8,000,000,000 Citizens of Earth
will have a responsibility and a right:  
to treat others with kindness and respect  
and to be treated with kindness and respect.
All Citizens of Earth are encouraged to do
what they love. Each will have to spend 10 years
between the ages of 18 and 60 to help humanity
and our home, Earth. Every Citizen of Earth
will be free to travel anywhere on Earth.
There will be no weapons on Earth. Our mantra
will be UNGUN EARTH. All needs--food,
clean water, health care, housing, education--
will be given equally to all Citizens of Earth.
A World Picnic will be held on a different
continent every year. The World Picnic will
last the whole year. All Citizens of Earth
will be provided transportation to spend
a week at the World Picnic to enjoy different
foods, different customs, different languages
from around the world. All can experience
differences with joy, not dread.   
Love, not hate. Peace, not war.
Planet Peace.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Tar-dark world. The defining color is black, the inky night of her nocturnal hunts and the deep, bottomless dark of her alien retreat.

A watcher of men, she is everything and nothing. She might be too much of something, or too little of something else. Time will sort out the particulars.

There are no simple entry points – she demands engagement, and to be taken as a whole. Her discomfort is over her own allure, her undisturbed surface. It’s more about intuition and gesture than dialogue. They remain as echoes. They’ve made her beautiful in a real way, with hips and blemishes and dimples in her skin.

The imprint of the lives she begins to grapple with as her time on Earth extends, leads her to stop seeing herself as a mere conduit for her mission, and to start developing a sense of subjectivity.

Her life force is overlapping, shaping itself into a pattern of rings that simultaneously suggests a birth canal dilating, the stages of a rocket separating, and a lunar eclipse as seen through a telescope’s lens.

She's a life-form you can’t quite understand, but it’s carrying on relentlessly, like a beehive, moving backward through the constellations at first approach.

An unfamiliar feeling
Almost like bubbles in my stomach
Fireworks in my brain

Laughter comes easily
Jokes slide off my tongue
Drunk on the feeling

Summer days
Long car rides
Music blasting
Bringing the strange feeling
Filling the air I breathe

Confidence
Love
The purest joy
Feeling as high as the stars in the sky

Better than a cigarette
Or any drug
The bursting
Euphoric feeling
Of true happiness

the end is coming for me
i can feel it in my bones
hunting down the last of my will
like a predator and it’s prey

i see the signs everywhere i look
everything and all is wrong

so for my last act of strength

instead of being left behind
this time i’m the one leaving

I miss you
But I will not let you ruin me again.

From lots of laughter, splashing and playing, and sharing memories
to it
coming to an end.

A quick, (not) painless way
To abandon all of your struggles.
An attempt to feel special, they say,
While in reality it's so much more.

They say only a coward would do it,
But i tried to take the life
Of the child i once were,
And the adult i could become.

S'il avait su quelle âme il a blessée,
Larmes du coeur, s'il avait pu vous voir,
Ah ! si ce coeur, trop plein de sa pensée,
De l'exprimer eût gardé le pouvoir,
Changer ainsi n'eût pas été possible ;
Fier de nourrir l'espoir qu'il a déçu :
A tant d'amour il eût été sensible,
S'il avait su.

S'il avait su tout ce qu'on peut attendre
D'une âme simple, ardente et sans détour,
Il eût voulu la mienne pour l'entendre,
Comme il l'inspire, il eût connu l'amour.
Mes yeux baissés recelaient cette flamme ;
Dans leur pudeur n'a-t-il rien aperçu ?
Un tel secret valait toute son âme,
S'il l'avait su.

Si j'avais su, moi-même, à quel empire
On s'abandonne en regardant ses yeux,
Sans le chercher comme l'air qu'on respire,
J'aurais porté mes jours sous d'autres cieux.
Il est trop **** pour renouer ma vie,
Ma vie était un doux espoir déçu.
Diras-tu pas, toi qui me l'as ravie,
Si j'avais su !

A leaf moves
we call it thought.

Silence gathers shape
then slips the name.

Truth is only still
until we touch it.

Even the sun
casts doubt
when it breaks.

The question walks,
but never arrives.

Once
Fault
Is
A
Fault
Minimize
To
Act
According
To
Gender
                  - Amisha priya

I ease myself into the uncomfortable.

angels
are
the
architects
that
dangle
the
soft white clouds
like
marionettes
that
dangle
their
puppets upon a string
while
whispering still
through
the
heavenly clouds

Velay! Velay! Melusina,
velay! Melusina de oro
-en el cabello y en el vello leve 1
que el labio te sombrea y las mejillas-. 2

Velay! Melusina de aciano
-palpitantes, azúreos, lientos ojos-.

Velay! Melusina la blonda
-los sonrosados labios, el cuello sonrosado,
sonrosados tesoros escondidos...-

Velay! Velay! Melusina,
velay! Melusina de oro:
¿cuándo reventarán los azahares?
¿cuándo el sabor caliente de tus llenos
labios golosos gustará mi gula?
¿cuándo aquellos tesoros escondidos
que -apenas- vislumbrará el ojo hambriento
(bastión bicupulado -diminutas
cúpulas desafiantes- que decora
sangriento par de diminutas fresas;
nemorosos retiros bajo los tibios brazos;
nemoros retiros...?)
¿cuándo aquéllos tesoros recatados
golosamente gustará mi gula?
¿cuándo reventarán los azahares?

Velay! Velay! Melusina,
velay! Melusina de oro
-en el cabello y en el vello leve... 3

Velay! Melusina de aciano,
velay! Melusina la blonda,
velay! velay! Melusina...

beautiful morning
    amber filtered . . .
                      with the forest fire smog
it's fine   don't worry
    it's been carried a great distance
                 to reach our city
a slight itchiness to the eyes
a slight betrayal      with breathing being
                                    a little harsh for some
beautiful morning
        teased branches
                       their tinsel shadows
               and a warm rustle

It doesn’t grow; it lingers.
Clings to ice older than regret, green with memory no world was there to gather.

The silence hums like a forgotten vow, not broken, just orbiting its chance to be said.

Moss dreams in spores and spores of maybe.
Each tendril reaching for a gravity that will not claim it.

This is not nature.
It’s ritual.
A fuzzed hymn to the act of staying where leaving has already begun.

So the comet loops, wearing time’s soft refusal.
And we, the flinch, the breath halfway drawn, call that orbit "now."

Even if you don't exist.
The idea of you,
has kept me going.

Even if it's lackadaisical
with a heavy helping of delusion.
It's better than nothing.

For a moment I took pleasure
On the fact that you existed
You were there
Silent
Withdrawn
But wise
Oh so wise

I felt I could talk to you
As if I talked to the moon
And God you could understand.

I found a scribbled piece of paper on my coat,
The wife wrote, "pick up some CANDLES" in a note.
I thought it said "CANDIES" hoping to discover,
that we finally would have candies,
In our cupboard.
So I bought in a rush:
Snickers, Abba Zabba, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Reeses peanut butter cups, M&Ms, Almond Joy, Milk Duds, laughy Taffy....and such.
I called her and told her all the candies I bought,
She said, "CANDLES, stupid", so I hung up.