“Hope lies in dreams, in imagination, and in the courage
of those who dare to make dreams into reality.” — Jonas Salk
Flowers
“Every so often, I like to go to the window, look up, and smile for a satellite picture.”- Stephen Wright
Your dreamers may dream it
The shadow of a dream,
Your sages may deem it
A bubble on the stream;
Yet our kingdom draweth nigher
With each dawn and every day,
Through the earthquake and the fire
‘Love will find out the way.’
Alfred Noyes
A Post Apocalyptic Poem
by Lewis Cavallo
All these days are filled with rust,
With nothing living on the earth’s crust.
Ships and cars and planes and hearts,
Are all that you’ll find,
But who said that the human race has become refined?
Civilization has ended… Yes,
Cultures have been removed… Yes,
Common sense ceases to be relevant… Yes,
But was it not compulsory before?
Perhaps the era of technology has ended,
And most souls of the past have descended,
But we are still human after all…
Aren’t we?
Does a smart phone and a suit and a job and a home,
Make us the humans we have all known,
Or is there something inside of all of us,
Something that helps the wounded,
Instead of our own.
Maybe it’s the feeling inside when we see another,
The rush of excitement, pain, fear and the next world,
To discover.
Maybe it’s the thought of putting down,
What has so much to offer just for your own needs,
Greedy…
Needy…
I don’t see a difference from this world and the last,
Perhaps someone I stumble upon will shut me down fast,
Or perhaps they will nod and walk on, right past.
“I’m not here to grant you the extraordinary love you never had for yourself.
I’m here, on my own accord, to love you. So that when you stare into my
mirror eyes, you may see how extraordinary you are.” ― Kamand Kojouri
Gloire de Dijon
— D.H. Lawrence
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with water, and her shoulders
Glisten as silver, they crumple up
Like wet and falling roses, and I listen
For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.
In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.
A Something in a Summer’s Day
Emily Dickinson
“A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon —
A depth — an Azure — a perfume —
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see —
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me —
The wizard fingers never rest —
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed —
Still rears the East her amber Flag —
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red —
So looking on — the night — the morn
Conclude the wonder gay —
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!”
Maverick Mist 