Poetry – Day 12

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April is National Poetry Month; the second poem posted. I am so moved by the way some people are able to share their feelings through words so simply, yet words which linger so intently in my heart, as if I had invited them in to stay.

I Am Offering This Poem

I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,

                         I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,

                         I love you,

Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe

                         I love you,

It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,

                           I love you.

–Jimmy Santiago Baca

Please read about this poet, Jimmy Santiago Baca, to learn about his background and the life that inspired his writing.

Noticing in Times of Abuse

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A gun held to the head of another, albeit lowered, the trigger not pulled, is no less of an abuse, whether to a country or an individual.

However, we can still choose to notice beauty around us, and hope together for a more loving and harmonious world.

Poetry – Day 6

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April is National Poetry Month. During the month, I will occasionally share poetry that speaks to me, hopefully, to you, too.

What Kind of Times Are These

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.

– Adrienne Rich, 1991

Photo by Jen Theodore/Unsplash

Seeing Art – Princeton University Art Museum

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What kind of museum do you want to go to? What do you want to see?

“Fish” – Zhang Hongtu, 1985, Acrylic on Canvas

For me, as an artist, photographer, writer, I want to see art. I want to see what will make my eyes open wider.

“Moonrise” – George Inness, 1888, Oil on canvas

I want to see what will touch my very being and remind me of who I am. Because in today’s intense, fast-moving world, it can be easy to sometimes forget.

“Moon Beam” – Pat Steir, 2005, Oil on canvas

I want to try and understand another human being who looks at the same thing as me, but sees it in such a vastly different way.

L to R – “Tiger Drinking from A Stream” – Yumashiro Yuhi, October 1761, Ink, color, gold pigment on silk; “Bridge to Heaven 2006.2” – Arnold Chang, 2006, Ink on paper; “An Immortal’s Abode Above the Clouds” – Gong Xian, mid 1680s, ink on silk.

I want to see what someone creates who has a totally different life and totally different experiences than me.

“To Be Sold” – Titus Kaphar, 2018, Oil on canvas with rusted nails. References the sale of 6 enslaved persons belonging to a former president of the university on this site, 1761-1766.

I want to get my heart cracked open a little.

“A.M.X.” – Nancy Grossman, 1969-1970, Wood with nailed and stitched leather.

I want to go home and keep thinking for a while, not just of what I saw, but of what the artist stated their intentions were.

“Naga” – Tuan Andrew Nguyen, 2024, Primarily pounded and polished brass plates made from unexploded bomb metal and artillery shells.

I want to take in these feelings from another’s visions, and I want them to call to me, wash over me, not to drown me, but to pull me … me … to the surface.

“Painting” – Willem De Kooning, 1948, Enamel and oil on canvas.

This museum visit is the first chance I’ve had to get out and see art in a while. I’d forgotten how intense an experience it can be. How wonderful.

“Self-Portrait” – Robert Mapplethorpe, 1972, Photo silkscreen

The art pictured here is all from the recently reopened (10/31/2025) Princeton University Art Museum, located on the Princeton, NJ campus. The construction took three years, and was built on the same site where the previous museum had existed and was then razed.

“Dogariya – The Queen’s Guard, from the series Anima Project” – Marcia Kure, 2022, Kola nut, indigo, and watercolor on board.

The PUAM houses both classical and contemporary art from around the world. Art pictured here is only from two small special exhibits, one on photography and another on Willem de Kooning, and a larger exhibit of pieces recently donated or promised upon the reopening. Some of what I photographed was in the hallways connecting exhibits. One could spend days there. I’ll be going back.

Go find some inspiration. See new stuff. Be happy

Find more at the Princeton University Art Museum.

A Life in Lines

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I recently went to the MVC (Motor Vehicle Commission) to get my REAL ID, and was offered the opportunity to have a new license photo taken. Sure, it’s been a while.

There’s nothing like having your photo taken by some official agency to reveal how we’ve aged, how many more lines we’ve added since our last such photograph. In our mirrors at home, we watch a slow and gradual change, so we can almost delude ourselves into thinking we haven’t really aged. It’s a harmless enough delusion.

Once back home, I decided to take an account of my face in the mirror.

There are definitely some lines. Among them, are many, many laugh lines. I know because when I smile, I see which ones they are. I also have squinting lines on my forehead and between my eyebrows, because I have grey eyes, and lighter eyes are always much more sensitive to sun then darker ones.

Some of the lines are simply natural aging, years of skin no longer capable of being taut as it was when I was younger. Pretty routine. I notice there really aren’t frown lines, or a down turned mouth, nothing angry.

But I also know, hidden in those lines, there are times of pain, anxiety, the stress of overcoming things life brought my way, delicate channels for tears. These lines are, to use the words of a friend, my Badge of Courage.

In the end, whether in a harshly lit photo for a driver’s license, in the soft and generous photo taken by a friend, or a selfie, all these lines are no more, no less, than a life lived.