Posts
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Talk to me of vineyards pungent with basil and thyme, of fireflies, shooting stars, and long hot summer nights. For winter has gone on much too long. Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2014
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In Karrada at night, wind and rain before dawn,when the dark is a roof or a drape never drawn, when the night’s at its peak and the dark’s full of rain,and the wet silence roils like a fierce hurricane, the lament of the wind fills the deserted street,the arcades groan in pain, and the lamps…
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Thank you NetGalley and Viking for the review copy of Veronica Buckley’s very interesting book “Seven Sisters.” Pretty much everyone knows who Marie Antoinette was, but what about her sisters? Were you aware that she even had sisters? I figured she did as she came from a royal family, but I couldn’t tell you…
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Thank you NetGalley and William Morrow for the advance review copy of The Whole30 Fast & Easy Cookbook (Revised); it is greatly appreciated. This book is full of recipes that I would make for my family and also feel good about serving to guests . They’re not elaborate, show-stopping recipes, but feel-good, filling dishes that…
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Painter of asparagus and raspberries,he’s added lemons too and gooseberriesin tangible magnificence.He sets them down, depicts their shape.A rigid order they communicate,stubbornness that helps the viewer sharedurable pretence.Things edible and perishable asmen are, have for a brief space beenwillfully set apart and raisedabove nature’s breathlessness. They mustand would transcend it, before becomingindistinct remnants on a…
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There is no room on this planet for anything less than a miracle We gather here today to revel in the rebellion of a silent tongue Every day, we lean forward into the light of our brightest designs & cherish the sun Praise our hands & throats each incantation,…
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If you must slight me, let it be the touchThat snow in April, falling soft and whiteGives to the blossoms delicate and light,So I don’t suffer, it won’t harm me much.If you must spite me, let it be as quickAs snow in April falling, not to last.Lies just one moment then, like mist is past,So…
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Blooming in stars, bells, cups, and saucers, before bees, before derelict cities.I can’t google you without involving the suspicious affliction of needingto name, or the geopolitics of search engines. I just want your petalscasting shadows across my face. And to know if they are edible.Many botanists say yes: raw, cooked, pickled, dried.Must I consume to…
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The woodland bed I go toMy mother had filled with sweet woodruff—It formed a layer so thick our Lady catSlept in it, upheld by the stalks called bedstraw—Now that my mother bends to the ground no moreI have stripped it to bare dirt—my darkEarth, empty to the eye, rich as the grave. Gnarled roots of mayapple…
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How to define the wordyellow?Tart lemon that stingsyour mouth; shining sunthat blinds your eyes;deep blanket of daffodilsthat caresses your face.Yes, the yellow of petalthat defies early Apriland its cruelty. Wildand tamed flower, itscolor reminds usof the first lightof spring, the memorythat cannot be forgotten. Copyright © 2011 by Linda Nemec Foster. This poem was first…
This is the Mask: A Book Blog 