Act of Creation

Sep 08

Kittens and the Hands of God

“What’s her name?” Penny asked him. She was mesmerized by the cat, unable to take her eyes away.

“I don’t think she has one,” Peter said, trying to be kind. “Why don’t you give her a name?”

“Kitty,” she said, laughing.

“Let’s name her Spook,” Megan said. She picked up the cat and pointed her finger at its face. “Spook! You’re called Spook!”

Eye to eye they stared at each other. The cat seemed to know who she was. Megan couldn’t believe it. “That’s the most extraordinary—”

The cat jumped straight into Penny’s lap. Thrilled, Penny captured the warm kitten in her hands. The kitten had such a tender face. Her paws were so delicate. Penny wanted to lick her up. She seemed to understand every word Penny said, her knowing eyes pulling Penny’s words deep into her.

At bedtime, Penny wanted to sleep with the cat but Helen wouldn’t allow it. Spook was to stay in the kitchen. Lying in bed, Penny thought of Kitty, alone in a new house, sad, lonely, puzzled at the future of things. She only had the box Peter had provided and some newspaper. Penny got out of bed and slipped downstairs. She opened the kitchen door; Kitty was looking up at her.

“Hello. Were you waiting for me? I had to wait first. To make sure everyone was asleep.” Penny scooped the kitten up, the furry warmth so wonderful in her hands. She smuggled the cat into her room.

From the top of her toy shelf Penny took down a doll’s cradle. She removed the doll, a porcelain baby whose eerie life-like features had always frightened her, and put Kitty inside the cradle instead. There was a pillow and a blanket, all in eyelet cotton, so Kitty would be very comfortable. Gently, Penny tapped the pear wood cradle and let it rock, quietly humming until the kitten seemed fast asleep. Penny couldn’t take her eyes away. She fell asleep on the floor, curled next to Kitty.

Penny was a light sleeper and often woke up several times a night, but that night she slept soundly, the most wonderful serenity hugging her throughout the night. She only remembered one dream, of a gentle, powerful breeze lifting her high into the night sky. As the breeze slowly died, another breeze brought her back up, one breeze after another like the hands of God carrying her through the sky. It was the most exhilarating feeling, being lifted up, floating down, lifted up again, her self circling the globe over and over.

An excerpt from Anchored Leaves, available as both a paperback and ebook.

Aug 01

[video]

Jul 10

themoodofthepeople: Hello friends, please reblog! Posting again because the book could use some publicity (shameless). -

themoodofthepeople:

amores gitano (gypsy loves)

by ROBERTO CARLOS GARCIA

Červená Barva Press is pleased to announce the publication of amores gitano (gypsy loves) by Roberto Carlos Garcia.

Roberto Carlos Garcia’s work has appeared in Connotation Press- An Online Artifact, Wilderness House…

Jun 15

I love how Anne Carson uses the lack of punctuation to increase ambiguity; it lets the fragments flow back & forth, text like bi-stable images. #RedDoc>

Jun 10

Helen of Troy remembers Paris:

The last time I saw, Paris his shield was bright & gay,

No matter how they maim him, I’ll remember him that way

(sung to Gershwin’s “Last Time I Saw Paris”)

Jun 06

themoodofthepeople: A poem from my chapbook that I translated to Spanish- -

themoodofthepeople:

El arco iris nos abandono

Te acuerdas?
Cuando repartiamos los colores
del arco iris como los niños,
compartiendo crayolas
ante una pagina en blanco.
Nuestra capacidad para amar como
la imaginacion infinita.
Te acuerdas?
Cuando la sombra de la tristeza
parada en el umbral de…

Apr 19

Nat’l Poetry Month: Charles Bukowski

themoodofthepeople:

side of the sun

the bulls are grand as the side of the sun
and although they kill them for the stale crowds,
it is the bull that burns the fire,
and although there are cowardly bulls as
there are cowardly matadors and cowardly men,
generally the bull stands pure
and dies pure
untouched by symbols or cliques or false loves,
and when they drag him out
nothing has died
something has passed
and the eventual stench
is the world.

from “Burning in Water Drowning in Flame-Poems 1955-1973”

Apr 12

[video]

Buy Her A Diamond Before It’s Too Late

“Winnie — who’s Tom?”

“Tom?”

“You said in your email that you knew you couldn’t be with Tom anymore. After meeting Lance.”

“That Tom.” Winnie smiled. “I met him my first day freshman year. He had this terrific grin. Real optimist. He came right up to me and said, ‘I think I’m going to marry you.’ I thought that was the best pickup line — he was so sincere. Why do you want to know about Tom?”

“I don’t know. I keep thinking about odd things. Like everything’s come loose in my brain. Like in dreams, only I feel that way all the time now. Do you know what happened to Tom?”

“I lost touch with him. I think he lives in California now. He was in grad school last time I saw him. Studying astrophysics. Strange for an optimist to study a field that’s so sure the whole universe is going to blow up.”

“Maybe it’s reassuring,” I said.

Buy at Amazon or at the iBook store. Maybe even Barnes & Noble if you have a Nook. Kobo store too.

Apr 11

themoodofthepeople: Nat'l Poetry Month: Robert Hayden -

themoodofthepeople:

The Ballad of Nat Turner


Then fled, O brethren, the wicked juba
and wandered wandered far
from curfew joys in the Dismal’s night.
Fool of St. Elmo’s fire

In scary night I wandered, praying,
Lord God my harshener,
speak to me now or let me die;
speak, Lord, to this mourner.

And came at length to livid trees