"Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere."
--G.K. Chesterton
"The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred.../Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you."
--Walt Whitman
Comments on this blog are moderated. Anonymous comments will not be accepted. Please include your full name and a valid email address. Comments that fail to engage respectfully with the arguments on this blog, or create a hostile environment for other participants, will be deleted, and their authors may be blocked from the site.
According to the Buddha, right speech is a statement that is timely, true, kind, helpful (connected to liberation), and spoken with a mind of good-will. Let us all try to observe this precept.
This entry was posted on 1/22/2009 5:07 PM and is filed under Jendi's Poems.
My icebox lover, let us sit at opposite ends of the blanket, pass a single egg back and forth, the salt, the pepper, the tiny bites. Let's admire the suspended sunset of blueberries in the jelly, decide not to open the jar. The ants are making words on the checkerboard of red cotton, like foreign newsprint shrilling its mysteries — words of thunder, words of weather. The future is obvious; let's not puzzle too long under its clouds. Sharing this postcard sandwich, cucumbers and butter, a hint suffices us for the whole. The lemon slices smile sagely in the glass and the bees waver between us, buzzing like knives, ready to wound for their sugar. We could fold our napkins, we could leave hungry, not wait till the rain skins us in our clothes, pushes us down in the soil like plants. Lover, don't grab for that last plate. To be struck once — I've had enough lightning.
This poem won a Commended award in the 2008 Cyclamens & Swords Poetry Contest. Read the winners here.
