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Archive for the ‘Billy Collins’ Category

Litany~Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine. Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass, and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker and the marsh birds [...]

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It’s that remembrance of things and times gone by.  That’s how I’ve been feeling today: nostalgic. It all began with the news that WAMU collapsed.  It’s the oldest and longest running Washington based institution.  It’s not that big a deal except that it was for so long and now it isn’t.  Next, it was waking [...]

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I was sitting at an intersection today and two monarch butterflies were doing some dance known only to them right in front of me. I stood there enthralled by the beauty and the wonder of it all. And very shortly a car came along and only one butterfly remained. It danced for just a second [...]

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Nostalgia

Remember the 1340′s? We were doing a dance called the Catapult. You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade, and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular, the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework. Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon, and at night we [...]

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Forgetfulness

The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of, as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the [...]

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The Revenant

I am the dog you put to sleep, as you like to call the needle of oblivion, come back to tell you this simple thing: I never liked you–not one bit. When I licked your face, I thought of biting off your nose. When I watched you toweling yourself dry, I wanted to leap and [...]

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Aristotle

This is the beginning. Almost anything can happen. This is where you find the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land, the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page. Think of an egg, the letter A, a woman ironing on a bare stage as the heavy curtain rises. This is the very [...]

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Dharma

The way the dog trots out the front door every morning without a hat or an umbrella, without any money or the keys to her doghouse never fails to fill the saucer of my heart with milky admiration. Who provides a finer example of a life without encumbrance — Thoreau in his curtainless hut with [...]

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