drmstream[writing]

Peb­bles   Every­thing, every­where, a memo­r­ial seen from the cor­ner of my eye; a puz­zle piece, a part of a recon­struc­tion, a mem­ory. A mes­sage – I am still here with you, for you. Like a spy, I read code left in a news­pa­per or flash­ing past on a com­puter mon­i­tor, rec­og­niz­able only to me.   I carry a peb­ble in […]

Silence A day of Silence Can be a pil­grim­age in itself. A day of Silence Can help you lis­ten To the Soul play Its mar­vel­lous lute and drum. Is not most talk­ing A crazed defence of a crum­bling fort? I thought we came here To sur­ren­der in Silence, To yield to Light and Hap­pi­ness, To Dance within […]

16 Cold Moun­tain is a house With­out beams or walls. The six doors left and right are open The hall is blue sky. The rooms all vacant and vague The east wall beats on the west wall At the cen­ter noth­ing. Bor­row­ers don’t bother me In the cold I build a lit­tle fire When I’m […]

After Mak­ing Love, We Hear Foot­steps For I can snore like a bull­horn or play loud music or sit up talk­ing with any rea­son­ably sober Irish­man and Fer­gus will only sink deeper into his dream­less sleep, which goes by all in one flash, but let there be that heavy breath­ing or a sti­fled come-cry anywhere […]

Pond in sum­mer, taken with iPhone4, retouched with pho­to­gene I Wan­dered Lonely As A Cloud I wan­dered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daf­fodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Flut­ter­ing and danc­ing in the breeze. Con­tin­u­ous as […]

So shake the dust And take me with you when you do For none of this has ever been for me. All that pushes and pulls And pushes and pulls It pushes for you. The sto­ries are every­where. Hat tip to reader Dale in Mel­bourne for point­ing me to this.

Every now and then a clear har­monic cry gave new sug­ges­tions of a tune that would some­day be the only tune in the world and would raise men’s souls to joy.“ – Jack Ker­ouac, On the Road The music flows in and out of your senses as eas­ily as the sweat raises your skin. What you […]

I love the order­li­ness of this page of man­u­script from Jorge Luis Borges. And I love this line from Con­jec­tural Poem. In the mir­ror of this night I find The unex­pected mien of my eter­nity. Both the man­u­script and the line are sur­prises. They are filled with con­trol, cer­tain about their pur­pose and uncon­strained by convention.

The first time I held you We were in the hos­pi­tal room before your mother Came out of recov­ery. I was ragged From the chaotic night, the fast change Into oper­at­ing scrubs, the paced urgency Of the nurs­ing staff as they rolled the gur­ney Through the dou­ble doors, two lives Hang­ing in the bal­ance. You were […]

There is no Silence in the Earth — so silent As that endured Which uttered, would dis­cour­age Nature And haunt the World. –Emily Dickinson