Cranberry Lake - Ari Hest

Cranberry Lake: This song always makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

[He is pruning the privet]

By Joanne Kyger b. 1934

                       He is pruning the privet

                of sickly sorrow   desolation

           in loose pieces of air he goes clip clip clip

       the green blooming branches fall—‘they’re getting out

             of hand’    delirious and adorable    what a switch

                               we perceive        multiple

identities     when you sing     so beautifully     the shifting

       clouds  You are not alone is this world

               not a lone  a parallel world of reflection

       in a window keeps the fire burning

                    in the framed mandala,  the red shafted flicker

               sits on the back of the garden chair in the rain

the red robed monks downtown in the rain  a rainbow arises

                   simple country      practices thunder

      lightning,  hail and rain    eight Douglas Iris

            ribbon layers of attention

              So   constant creation of ‘self’ is a tricky

       mess    He is pruning the loquat,   the olive

     which looks real enough in the damp late morning air

                                                                           May 15, 1995

Aphrodisia

Had to post this poem somewhere because I think a lot of people can relate:

Aphrodisia
By Richard Hoffman

Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered,

sibilant similes and promises sotto voce.

It’s easy to imagine you’ve misheard,

the form and content clash, create this weird

distortion like an echo or a tape delay.

Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered.

On which do you place emphasis: The words?

Or the breath? The farfetched or the foreplay?

It’s easy to imagine you’ve misheard

when objectivity has disappeared

and your lover is getting further carried away.

Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered

vows? It’s hard to take him at his word,

or hers: Speak up! Proclaim! you want to say.

It’s easy to imagine you’ve misheard,

hard to admit one sharp as you is stirred.

You need to back off, cool down, act blasé.

Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered.

It’s easy to imagine you’ve misheard.

Paradise in Alicante

Two weekends ago, we went on a day trip to a place called “Fuentes de Algar”, right outside of Alicante, Spain. The 'fuente' comes down from the mountains, so the water is extremely cold, but deliciously refreshing. The water is crystal clear and you can see the fish swimming around you. There are several waterfalls and a wooden plank above one of the wider parts of the creek. Our visit to Fuentes de Algar was one of my favorite days here in Spain as it was a nice change from all the time spent in cities.