Spring Fancy

If Rilke can be forgiven
Salome’s spring and fevered roses,
there may be hope indeed for this
liquid longing flight of fancy
The terrain of your body is
all planes and angles,
but where borders might be,
I find only invitations.
The force of your body,
is as undeniable as spring,
and with its movement against mine,
as strong as all driven
and budding things.

Small Wings

A butterfly house.
A shadowed garden lit by fireflies.
A pavilion for listening to cicadas.

Your fingertips do to me
what spring does to cherry trees
and my heart unfolds
like all winged things.


“Love Shall Be Yours and Love Be Mine”

One of my favorites by Christina Rossetti. It was first published without a title in Time Flies: A Reading Diary in 1885. It was later included in the collection Verses in 1893 under the title “Christmastide.”

Here is a humble but moving version of the poem set to music you may enjoy.

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love shall be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and to all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

Henry Ossawa Tanner, The Annunciation, 1898

Henry Ossawa Tanner, The Annunciation, 1898

Understanding not Judgment

A few jewels on writing from Earnest Hemingway from his 1967 nonfiction piece By-Line.

“As a writer you should not judge. You should understand.”

“Listen now. When people talk listen completely. Don’t be thinking what you’re going to say.”

These admonitions apply not just to the writer’s attitude towards others but to her or himself as well! Avoid judgment, strive for understanding, listen, listen, listen. Above all, be kind.

Come visit me at From the Heart for October’s post and a perfect fall poem from Mary Oliver.

And visit here for some gorgeous reflections by Ray Bradbury on the role of love in creativity.

Happy Fall!



Pilgrim’s Prayer

That my eyes open and close.
That my breath move in and out.
That my skin remain permeable and protective.

For hunger and repletion,
for gladness and grief,
for apples both silver and gold.

And for courage
for the dear heart
whose only way of being
is open.

© LAC 2014

©Imogen Cunningham, 1931

©Imogen Cunningham, 1931

There Were Blackberries

It was all the first touch, the first taste.

There, on one branch–
the tight, sour,
unripened offerings.
Bright and
intent with potential.

But farther on, there was something dark,
something luscious,
something lovely.

It felt
almost full.
It tasted
almost possible.

And there, in between,
is patience,
something made of sun, soil, and sugar
that allows
whatever the fruit does
to become

© LAC 8/14