Archive for the ‘a good poem’ Category

Deep Thoughts : )

Hey there! I have no original ideas of my own today, so I leave you with a few quotes from Jack Handey.

One thing kids like is to be tricked.  For instance, I was going
to take my nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old
burned-out warehouse. "Oh no," I said, "Disneyland burned down."

He cried and cried, but I think that deep down he thought it was a
pretty good joke.  I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but
decided to go home instead.
The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the 
Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo,
flying across in front of a beautiful sunset?  And he's carrying a
beautiful rose in his beak, and also he's carrying a very beautiful
painting with his feet.  And also, you're drunk.
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not our
children's children, because I don't think children should be having 
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell
him is, "God is crying."  And if he asks why God is crying, another 
cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."
If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the
mirror, because I bet that's what REALLY throws you into a panic.
I hope if dogs ever take over the world and they choose a king, they
don't just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with
some good ideas.
Instead of having "answers" on a math test, they should just call
them "impressions," and if you got a different "impression," so what,
can't we all be brothers?
I wish I would have a real tragic love affair and get so bummed out
that I'd just quit my job and become a bum for a few years, because
I was thinking about doing that anyway.
If you go flying back through time and you see somebody else flying
forward into the future, it's probably best to avoid eye contact.
It's easy to sit there and say you'd like to have more money.  And I
guess that's what I like about it.  It's easy.  Just sitting there,
rocking back and forth, wanting that money.
If you ever reach total enlightenment while you're drinking a beer,
I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.
To me, clowns aren't funny.  In fact, they're kinda scary.  I've
wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I
went to the circus and a clown killed my dad.
As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red
again, I sat there thinking about life.  Was it nothing more than a
bunch of honking and yelling?  Sometimes it seemed that way.
I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate.
And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
I hope some animal never bores a hole in my head and lays its eggs in
my brain, because later you might think you're having a good idea but
it's just eggs hatching.
If I ever get real rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like
I am now.
Here's a good thing to do if you go to a party and you don't know
anybody:  First take out the garbage.  Then go around and collect any
extra garbage  that people might have, like a crumpled napkin, and
take that out too.  Pretty soon people will want to meet the busy
garbage guy.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights,
even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is 
you're talking to. Then on the way out, slam the door.
One thing vampire children have to be taught early on is, don't run
with a wooden stake.
If you go to a costume party at your boss's house, wouldn't you think
a good costume would be to dress up like the boss's wife?  Trust me,
it's not.
Most of the time it was probably real bad being stuck down in a
dungeon. But some days, when there was a bad storm outside, you'd look
out your little window and think, "Boy, I'm glad I'm not out in that."


On The Writer’s Almanac today….I’ve always loved this poem.

This Year’s Valentine

by Philip Appleman

They could

   pump frenzy into air ducts

     and rage into reservoirs,

   dynamite dams

     and drown cities,

   cry fire in theaters

     as the victims are burning,


I will find my way through blackened streets

   and kneel down at your side.

They could 

   jump the median, head-on,

     and obliterate the future,

   fit .45’s to the hands of kids

     and skate them off to school,

   flip live butts into tinderbox forests

     and hellfire half the heavens,


in the rubble of smoking cottages

   I will hold you in my arms.

They could

   send kidnappers to kindergartens

     and pedophiles to playgrounds,

   wrap themselves in Old Glory

     and gut the Bill of Rights,

   pound the door with holy screed

     and put an end to reason,


I will cut through their curtains of cunning

   and find you somewhere in the moonlight.

Whatever they do with their anthrax or chainsaws,

however they strip-search or brainwash or blackmail,

they cannot prevent me from sending you robins,

all of them singing: I’ll be there.


A lovely poem which was featured on the Writer’s Almanac on January 10th.



by Michael Dennis Browne



Today I explained telepathy to you,

         and telephone, and television,

                  on the way to day care,

and I said, sometimes when I’m at work 

         I’ll think of you,

                  and if I could send you that thought with my mind,

you’d get it right then, 

         and maybe you’d smile, stopping a moment at whatever

                  you were doing, or maybe not

but just going on with it, making a mask out of paper plates

         and orange and green cards

                  with markers and scissors and paste,

or screaming circles in the gym

         either being a monster

                  or being chased by a gang of them, but still you’d get

the picture I was beaming

         and you’d brighten inside and flash me something back,

                  which I’d get, where I was, and smile at.

That’s telepathy, I said

         pulling into the parking lot,

                  looking at you in the mirror. 

“Telepathy” by Michael Dennis Browne, from You Won’t Remember This. © Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1992.

Baby Beluga

…for Daria, in answer to your question…

My husband has been singing this to me since we started IVF last year. If you could see this big Boston Bear of a man singing this children’s song, you would know why I love it so. Now he delights in it even more. It makes me appreciate every joy and gift we have been given thus far…

Baby Beluga

Baby beluga in the deep blue sea, 
Swim so wild and you swim so free. 
Heaven above and the sea below, 
Just a little white whale on the go. 

Baby beluga, baby beluga, is the water warm? 
Is your mother home with you, so happy. 

Way down yonder where the dolphins play, 
Where they dive and splash all day, 
The waves roll in and the waves roll out, 
See the water squirting out of your spout. 

Baby beluga, baby beluga, sing your little song, 
Sing for all your friends, we like to hear you. 

When it’s late and you’re home and fed, 
Curled up snug in your waterbed. 
Stars are shining and the moon is bright, 
Good night, little whale, goodnight. 

Baby beluga, baby beluga, with tomorrow’s sun, 
Another day has come, you’ll soon be waking. 

Baby beluga, baby beluga, is the water warm? 
Is your mother home with you, so happy.

Poem: “Being in Love” by Chungmi Kim

This is how I feel today…whew!


Being in Love

 by Chungmi Kim

Awakened from a dream, I curl up

and turn. The roses on the dresser

smile and your words bloom.

The red roses for Valentine’s Day.

Like in a film

thoughts of you unfold

moment by moment.

I vaguely hear

the sound of your spoon scooping cereal

the water stream in the shower

the buzzing noise of your electric razor

like a singing of cicada.

Your footsteps in and out of the bedroom.

Your lips touching my cheek lightly.

And the sound of the door shutting.

In your light

I fall asleep again under the warm quilt

happily like a child.

Upon waking

on the kitchen counter I find a half

grapefruit carefully cut and sectioned.

Such a loving touch is a milestone

For my newly found happiness. 


“Being in Love” by Chungmi Kim, from Glacier Lily. © Red Hen Press, 2004

A Good Poem: Insomniac


I read this poem a few days ago on the Writer’s Almanac and it made me think of love. How lucky we are to have love and friendship in our lives. 

Wishing you many blessings!


by Galway Kinnell

I open my eyes to see how the night

is progressing. The clock glows green,

the light of the last-quarter moon

shines up off the snow into our bedroom.

Her portion of our oceanic duvet

lies completely flat. The words

of the shepherd in Tristan, “Waste

and empty, the sea,” come back to me.

Where can she be? Then in the furrow

where the duvet overlaps her pillow,

a small hank of brown hair

shows itself, her marker that she’s here,

asleep, somewhere down in the dark

underneath. Now she rotates

herself a quarter turn, from strewn

all unfolded on her back to bunched

in a Z on her side, with her back to me.

I squirm nearer, careful not to break

into the immensity of her sleep,

and lie there absorbing the astounding

quantity of heat a slender body

ovens up around itself.

Her slow, purring, sometimes snorish,

perfectly intelligible sleeping sounds

abruptly stop. A leg darts back

and hooks my ankle with its foot

and draws me closer. Immediately

her sleeping sounds resume, telling me:

“Come, press against me, yes, like that,

put your right elbow on my hipbone, perfect,

and your right hand at my breasts, yes, that’s it,

now your left arm, which has become extra,

stow it somewhere out of the way, good.

Entangled with each other so, unsleeping one,

together we will outsleep the night.” 

“Insomniac” by Galway Kinnell, from Strong is Your Hold. © Houghton Mifflin Company, 2006.

Poem: Starlings in Winter

This poem was on NPR Writer’s Almanac today. I loved it and wanted to share it with you…

Wishing you joy…


Dec. 8, 2009 

Starlings in Winter

by Mary Oliver

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers, 

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

they are acrobats

in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;

they float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots 

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard, I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings. 

“Starlings in Winter” by Mary Oliver, from Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays. © Beacon Press, 2003
European Starling eggs

Nesting: For more information on these beautiful birds. Click here.