Monthly Archives: June 2016

Surveyor in New England, a prose poem

Surveyor in New England, a prose poem

And so, since there were no detailed official maps, he named small lakes after himself, solitary hills, even shy, dusty lanes marked only by the great thumping hooves of his horse — a patient, taciturn beast, dun-colored, remarkable mainly for the seven white spots on its flank, arranged like the constellation Ursa Major.

Back then, a hundred years ago, electrical-survey men like him sweated gracefully during summer, their cheeks burnt into dark Scotch grain, their hairlines preserved white as milk under the dimpled felt of U.S.-issue hats. Though he was the youngest of the crew, his moustache grew enviably broad and full, waxed close at the tips, bowed under his classical nose like the extended wings of a pigeon.

Reining to a stop, as he slid down, he pulled from the saddle-bags yet another wooden stake flagged with a length of wrinkled red muslin, kneeling to pound it into the rocky Vermont ground, leaving it there for eternity.

As he rode on farther north — past the tall flowering weeds around Lovell Pond, the drunken bees bouncing off his boots — continuing along the route he’d laid out for the electric poles to follow, he thought of his mother: the way her fierce blue eyes glittered on foggy mornings, the way his father caressed her wrist at the dinner table, and, above all, how skillfully she ironed, gripping the rag-wrapped handle, fluttering the heavy, blunt-nosed tool over the damp white cotton of his shirts in rhythms as comforting and certain and lovely as the slow tick of a butterfly’s wings as it feeds from the bright center of a blossom.

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Pretzels & Chocolate, a poem



(rented room, cigarettes)

I am eating pretzels
and they are hard
but splinter into salty crumbs

with the merest bite
they only satisfy
part of my tongue

(rented room, cigarettes)

so I pick up the chocolate
greedy for it to melt
against my palate

sucking the firm square
feeling it mold to me
the way I imagine

my body molds to yours

(rented room, cigarettes)

retaining the character of sweetness
to complement the salt
to balance my mouth

I am eating chocolate
thinking of us

(rented room, cigarettes)

illustration mockingbird mimus polyglottos

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Fallen Beauty 

We wept. Thinking of flying. And beauty. True poem, this.

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Guest Post – 15 Alternatives to Bipolar Treatments if Traditional Ones Aren’t Working

Dude! Everything on this list is stuff EVERYBODY should be doing. Isn’t “bipolar” a slur for “very passionate?” Why does being more sensitive, more passionate, have to be a “disease?” Shouldn’t society be adjusting to our biological evolution? Not the other way round, with drugs & shock treatments & chemical lobotomy.

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The Dervish.

Dr. Arfa Masihuddin


It was raining heavily.

A beautiful sunset melting into the darkness of the night against the backdrop of tired birds flying back to their intricate nests, had perfectly completed the painting of her imagination. And the melodious reminder of life that was hitting the wooden roof of her cottage was tranquilizing her soul. She was at peace.

Glancing down at the book in her lap, she thoughtfully sipped on her tea. It was deliciously warm in her big, yellow mug. Smiling at her eccentricity, she read the inscription on the ceramic :
“When I was a child, I saw God, I saw angels;
I watched the mysteries of the higher and lower worlds. I thought all men saw the same.
At last I realized that they did not see.…

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Consequences of terror….

“When people are terrorized, the smartest parts of our brain tend to shut down,” says Dr. Bruce Perry, Senior Fellow of the ChildTrauma Academy. image.jpeg

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How Terror Hijacks the Brain |


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