Hughes – the Promise of America was Meaningless Unless Universal Langston Hughes saw Trump coming at least as early as 1936, with the publication of his poem, Let America Be America again. I have journalist Paul Rosenberg to thank for reminding me. As the racist, overgrown child and tv con man who currently occupies the…
This week we’d like to wish Wendell Berry a wonderful 84th birthday. We’ve only just discovered this gem of a poem, graphic courtesy of The Berry Center.
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
via Connie Madden’s daily poem. Gratitude What did you notice? The dew snail; the low-flying sparrow; the bat, on the wind, in the dark; big-chested geese, in the V of sleekest performance; the soft toad, patient in the hot sand; the sweet-hungry ants; the uproar of mice in the empty house; the tin music of…