Ellie the opossum crawling on a fence. she is 10 months old currently
Ellie the opossum at 3 months old last year
happy to report that Cincinnati zoo has an orphaned opossum named Ellie as an animal ambassador and she is adorable
wow i love putting together a packet of other people's poems for teaching. it's one of my favorite things. assembling a packet of other people's poems for a class. like, i can't wait to share something beautiful. and talk about it together. other people's poems. a packet of them!
“When the eye loses the ability to see an object for the fact of its very nearness, then the imagination must alter the lens. A poem may bring us what we see in it just such a way. It reaches through the little hole in the eye and puts the thing in mind, that realm in which perception and forgetting are simultaneous, where every presence coincides with a corresponding absence, where experience, as in an old iconic painting, holds aside the breast of its garment to reveal not a burning heart, but a nothing that pulses and is on fire.”
In case any poets needed some Dan Beachy-Quick tonight...
"When the eye loses the ability to see an object for the fact of its very nearness, then the imagination must alter the lens. A poem may bring us what we see in it just such a way."
Even when there’s no accountability, the record matters. Credit to the Wikipedia editors maintaining this page.
A U.S. president cannot be held accountable. Therefore, a U.S. president must never make a policy decision.
Archaic Bust of Apollo (After Rilke) We cannot know the indescribable face Where the eyes like apples ripened. Even so, His torso has a candelabra’s glow, His gaze, contained as in a mirror’s grace, Shines within it. Otherwise his breast Would not be dazzling. Nor would you recognize The smile that moves along his curving thighs, There where love’s strength is caught within its nest. This stone would not be broken, but intact Beneath the shoulders’ flowing cataract, Nor would it glisten like a stallion’s hide, Brimming with radiance from every side As a star sparkles. Now it is dawn once more. All places scrutinize you. You must be reborn. (1965)
love this version of Rilke by Delmore Schwartz, written the year before he died
It was not "domestic terrorism.” It was state sanctioned violence.
A family will forever live with the pain caused by the admin's reckless and deadly actions.
Abolishing ICE is not enough. They must be held accountable.
OF THE EMPIRE We will be known as a culture that feared death and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity for the few and cared little for the penury of the many. We will be known as a culture that taught and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke little if at all about the quality of life for people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a commodity. And they will say that this structure was held together politically, which it was, and they will say also that our politics was no more than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of the heart, and that the heart, in those days, was small, and hard, and full of meanness.
Ever relevant, this poem by Mary Oliver, especially today.
New Year's Resolution I ask my friend Bob what his New Year's resolutions are and he says, with a shrug (indicating that this is obvious or not surprising): to drink less, to lose weight... He asks me the same, but 1 am not ready to answer him yet. I have been studying my Zen again, in a mild way, out of desperation over the holidays, though mild desperation. A medal or a rotten tomato, it's all the same, says the book I have been reading. After a few days of consideration, I think the most truthful answer to my friend Bob would be: My New Year's resolution is to learn to see myself as nothing. Is this competitive? He wants to lose some weight, I want to learn to see myself as nothing. Of course, to be competitive is not in keeping with any Buddhist philosophy. A true nothing is not competitive. But I don't think I'm being competitive when I say it. I am feeling truly humble, at that moment. Or I think I am—in fact, can anyone be truly humble at the moment they say they want to learn to be nothing! But there is another problem, which I have been wanting to describe to Bob for a few weeks now: at last, halfway through your life, you are smart enough to see that it all amounts to nothing, even success amounts to noth-ing. But how does a person learn to see herself as nothing
when she has already had so much trouble learning to see herself as something in the first place? It's so confusing. You spend the first half of your life learning that you are something after all, now you have to spend the second half learning to see yourself as nothing. You have been a negative nothing, now you want to be a positive nothing. I have begun trying, in these first days of the new year, but so far it's pretty difficult. I'm pretty close to nothing all morning, but by late afternoon what is in me that is something starts throwing its weight around. This happens many days. By evening, I'm full of something and it's often something nasty and pushy. So what I think at this point is that I'm aiming too high, that maybe nothing is too much, to begin with. Maybe for now I should just try, each day, to be a little less than I usually am.
Lydia Davis. New Year’s Resolution. ✨
Hopi Leia, black and white relief print by Hopi artist Sikuyva Dawavendewa. Behind her is a village but in the style of Tatooine's Mos Eisley town, with the two suns as well. The border is also symbolism to rain clouds with rain falling on the side. The graphic is laid over a pale lavender background.
Back cover of issue listing 48 contributor names. The graphic is laid over a pale lavender background.
Cover reveal: Shō No. 8 | Winter 2025/2026
Cover art: “Hopi Leia” by Sikuyva Dawavendewa.
Our winter issue features 72 poems by 48 poets (names threaded below).
Pre-order link: tinyurl.com/shono8
The winners and runners-up of the editors’ prizes will be announced this week!
New summer issue
Featuring @1andrewcollard.bsky.social, @katiekemple.bsky.social, @alisonpelegrin.bsky.social, @sambranopoet.bsky.social, @kellyrsamuels.bsky.social, @mhwack.bsky.social, @ellenwelcker.bsky.social, @tracylchandler.bsky.social, @gregory-euclide.bsky.social, @todaysaaron.bsky.social
He got shot in the head by a tear gas canister, but @acatwithnews.bsky.social reported on three days of escalation and violence by the feds in Los Angeles for Hell World anyway.
www.welcometohellworld.com/it-is-happen...
love that the diet section of "eastern gray squirrel" has this extensive image gallery
Summer is here (100º in Phoenix today! 😅) and so is HFR’s Spring/Summer Issue! Featuring #fiction, #poetry, #translation, and #cnf by @joshuanguyen03.bsky.social, @mhwack.bsky.social, @mnisinson.bsky.social and more, you can pick up a copy in our store now: haydensferryreview.com/purchase-iss...
Daily Darjeeling Black Tea & The Body Problem by Margaret Wack
30. Daily Darjeeling Black Tea & The Body Problem by our own Margaret Wack (@mhwack.bsky.social)
Poetry & Tea celebrate National Poetry Month with our favorite tea & poetry pairings
Is there a better match than a good book of poems and a good cup of tea? To celebrate National Poetry Month, we've paired up some stunning volumes of poetry with our loose leaf tea blends. Discover new books paired with your favorite teas, or try out a new tea matched with your favorite poet!
OBSESSED with the gorgeous cover of our new issue, with art by Phoenix artist Antoinette Cauley and incredible work by authors including @mhwack.bsky.social @mnisinson and so many more!
The Presence in Absence Poetry is not made of words. I can say it’s January when it’s August. I can say, “The scent of wisteria on the second floor of my grandmother’s house with the door open onto the porch in Petaluma,” while I’m living an hour’s drive from the Mexican border town of Ojinaga. It is possible to be with someone who is gone. Like the silence which continues here in the desert while the night train passes through Marfa louder and louder, like the dogs whining and barking after the train is gone.
Linda Gregg 🖤
Every April, I revisit Donika Kelly’s “Love Poem: Centaur” — a creature of marvel in its construction and articulation. Repetition rules.
www.alinastefanescuwriter.com/blog/2025/4/...
Always falling into a hole, then saying "ok, this is not your grave, get out of this hole," getting out of the hole which is not the grave, falling into a hole again, saying "ok, this is also not your grave, get out of this hole," getting out of that hole, falling into another one; sometimes falling into a hole within a hole, or many holes within holes, getting out of them one after the other, then falling again, saying "this is not your grave, get out of the hole"; sometimes being pushed, saying "you can not push me into this hole, it is not my grave," and getting out defiantly, then falling into a hole again without any pushing; sometimes falling into a set of holes whose structures are predictable, ideological, and long dug, often falling into this set of structural and impersonal holes; sometimes falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying "this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole," all together getting out of the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other to get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together; sometimes the willful-falling into a hole which is not the grave bc it is easier than not falling into a hole really, but then once in it, realizing it is not the grave, getting out of the hole eventually; sometimes falling into a hole and languishing there for days, weeks, months, years, because while not the grave very difficult, still, to climb out of and you know after this hole there's just another and another; sometimes surveying the landscape of holes and wishing for a high quality final hole; sometimes thinking of who has fallen into holes which are not graves but might be better if they were; sometimes too ardently contemplating the final hole while trying to avoid the provisional ones; sometimes dutifully falling and getting out, w/perfect fortitude, saying "look at the skill and spirit with which I rise from that which resembles the grave but isn't!"
anne boyer (i feel like we all know this here but i screenshotted it for a discord i’m in so it seemed like an opportunity)
Quince pie, blackcurrant tarts, rye biscuits, and almond cake with candied lilac buds—everything needed for a lovely celebration.
Opossum picture: 473.jpg
how you respond to the illegal kidnapping of a lawful permanent resident is a pretty good litmus test for your politics and principles. do they extend to someone you view as in the out-group? do you actually believe in the whole "disagree with you but will defend your right to speak?"
a lot of people have said, now is when you find out how you would react to incipient fascism. and what you do is important! but a more salient point might be, how do large institutions, like say, columbia university, react. not looking great so far!
This is one of my favorite poems of all time, written by the wonderful & greatly missed John M. Ford.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. So I thought I would share it.
Margaret Wack, Finalist for the Leonard Cohen Poetry Prize.
