http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/ For the Deep-Thinking Dachshund en-US 2009-07-11T23:45:52-04:00 http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/CSGCZf3CpLY/the-place-i-want-to-get-back-to.html By Mary Oliver is where in the pinewoods in the moments between the darkness and first light two deer came walking down the hill and when they saw me they said to each other, okay, this one is okay, let's see who she is and why she is sitting on the ground, like that, so quiet, as if asleep, or in a dream, but, anyway, harmless; and so they come on their slender legs and gazed upon me not unlike the way I go out to the dunes and look and look and look into the faces of the flowers;... Animals Begin at the beginning Carpe Diem Flora Games Going into the Woods Live Poets Time Values mgmt 2009-07-11T23:45:52-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/07/the-place-i-want-to-get-back-to.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/qPMbIkD8hHU/breasts-like-martinis.html By Jill McDonough The bartender at Caesar's tells jokes we've heard a hundred times. A shoelace walks into a bar, for example. I whisper Sarah Evers told me that joke in sixth grade and Josey says My brother Steve, 1982. A whore, a midget, a Chinaman, nothing we haven't heard. Then a customer asks Why are breasts like martinis? and they both start laughing. They know this one, everybody knows this one, except us. They don't even bother with the punch line. The bartender just says Yeah, but I always said there should be a third one, on the back,... Going into the Woods Live Poets Sex Turn, Counter-turn, and Stand Values mgmt 2009-05-29T22:45:05-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/05/breasts-like-martinis.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/P_IWFoNgLlk/one-art.html By Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost... Bishop Dead Poets Going into the Woods Wade Whole Pools of It mgmt 2009-05-13T20:52:41-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/05/one-art.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/AQom5LdORO8/seriously-sexy.html by Carol Ann Duffy (new British Poet Laureate) Frau Freud Ladies, for arguments sake, let us say That I've seen my fair share of ding-a-ling, member and jock, Of todger and nudger and percy and cock, of tackle, Of three-for-a-bob, of willy and winky; in fact, you could say, I'm as au fait with Hunt-the-Salami as Ms M. Lewinsky – equally sick up to here with the beef bayonet, the pork sword, the saveloy, love-muscle, night-crawler, dong, the dick, prick, dipstick and wick, the rammer, the slammer, the Rupert, the shlong. Don't get me wrong, I've no axe to grind... Games Going into the Woods Live Poets Sex Turn, Counter-turn, and Stand mgmt 2009-05-02T09:25:54-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/05/seriously-sexy.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/wL8i-9GddqU/carol-ann-duffy-poet-laureate.html Carol Ann Duffy named as Poet Laureate - News, Books - The Independent. Valentine By Carol Ann Duffy Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. Not a cute card or a kissogram. I give you an onion. Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips, possessive and faithful as we are,... Food and Drink Live Poets Turn, Counter-turn, and Stand Values Wade Whole Pools of It mgmt 2009-05-01T23:24:28-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/05/carol-ann-duffy-poet-laureate.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/PbR1qEg_cPo/when-lilacs-last-in-the-dooryard-bloomd.html Republishing, for Good Friday, and the tremendous dramatic reading by Sam Waterston and Harold Holzer on Bill Moyer's Journal, on this Lincoln bicentennial year. Assassinated on Good Friday as the Civil War was coming to a close, Abraham Lincoln was transformed from man to martyr and myth. A special performance edition of Bill Moyers Journal on April 10th, celebrates Lincoln's profound legacy in his bicentennial year. Acclaimed actor Sam Waterston and historian Harold Holzer share poetry and prose by great American writers as different as Frederick Douglas, Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsburg, Langston Hughes and Herman Melville. Responding to the arc... Current Affairs Dead Poets Flora Going into the Woods Protest Time Values Wade Whole Pools of It Whitman mgmt 2009-04-10T21:24:38-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/04/when-lilacs-last-in-the-dooryard-bloomd.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/fit4keV0uwM/theory-theory-a-designers-view.html By Thomas Erickson Theory weary, theory leery, why can't I be theory cheery? I often try out little bits wheresoever they might fit. (Affordances are very pliable, though what they add is quite deniable.) The sages call this bricolage, the promiscuous prefer menage... A savage, I, my mind's pragmatic I'll keep what's good, discard dogmatic. Add the reference to my paper, watch my cited colleagues caper, I cite you, you cite me, we've got solidarity. (GOMS and breakdowns, social network, use those terms, now don't you shirk!) Clear concepts clad in fancy clothes, bid farewell to lucid prose. The inner... Current Affairs Live Poets My Old School Protest Theory Web/Tech mgmt 2009-02-06T13:26:59-05:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/02/theory-theory-a-designers-view.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/ErYSXuIi628/lift-every-voice.html By James Weldon Johnson Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the listening skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod, felt in the days when hope unborn had died; yet... Dead Poets Lyrics Music My Old School Politics Protest Religion mgmt 2009-01-20T21:42:21-05:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/01/lift-every-voice.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/vt7xNsSassw/fear-no-more-th.html By William Shakespeare Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke: Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finished joy and... Dead Poets Going into the Woods Shakespeare Wade Whole Pools of It mgmt 2009-01-02T21:34:33-05:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/01/fear-no-more-th.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/AkC8ZflVhaM/you-andrew-marv.html By Archibald MacLeish And here face down beneath the sun Here upon Earth's noonward height To feel the always coming on The always rising of the night: To feel creep up the curving East The earthy chill of dusk and slow upon those underlands the vast And ever climbing shadow grow And strange at Ecbatan the trees Take leaf by leaf the evening strange The flooding dark about their knees The mountains over Persia change And now at Kermanshah the gate Dark empty and the withered grass And through the twilight now the late Few travellers in the Westward pass... Begin at the beginning Carpe Diem Dead Poets MacLeish Time mgmt 2009-01-01T01:48:30-05:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2009/01/you-andrew-marv.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/vdc2EcG-Jow/neonatology.html by Elizabeth Alexander Is funky, is leaky, is a soggy, bloody crotch, is sharp jets of breast milk shot straight across the room, is gaudy, mustard-colored poop, is postpartum tears that soak the baby’s lovely head. Then everything dries and disappears Then everything dries and disappears Neonatology is day into night into day, light into dark into light, semi- and full-fledged, hyperconscious, is funky, is funny: the baby farts, we laugh. The baby burps, we smile, say “Yes.” The baby poops, his whole body stiffens, then steam heat floods the pipes. He slashes his nose with nails we cannot bear... Begin at the beginning Going into the Woods Kiddie Lit Live Poets mgmt 2008-12-23T12:10:23-05:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2008/12/neonatology.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/aFMeftjQx6g/planting-a-sequ.html By Dana Gioia All afternoon my brothers and I have worked in the orchard, Digging this hole, laying you into it, carefully packing the soil. Rain blackened the horizon, but cold winds kept it over the Pacific, And the sky above us stayed the dull gray Of an old year coming to an end. In Sicily a father plants a tree to celebrate his first son's birth-- An olive or a fig tree--a sign that the earth has one more life to bear. I would have done the same, proudly laying new stock into my father's orchard, A green sapling... Flora Going into the Woods Live Poets Wade Whole Pools of It Winter mgmt 2008-10-18T15:21:53-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2008/10/planting-a-sequ.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/ZKj2zg7GjtE/pied-beauty.html By Gerard Manley Hopkins Glory be to God for dappled things, For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow, For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow and plough, And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange, Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change; Praise him. Link: Poets' Corner - Gerard Manly Hopkins - Selected Works. Animals Carpe Diem Dead Poets Flora Going into the Woods Religion Values mgmt 2008-10-08T23:53:47-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2008/10/pied-beauty.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/Lo793z6A8V4/for-the-boy-in.html By Jack Bedell When he was twelve, he made the national news to his parents’ delight and filled the pews of the Living World with gaggles of girls and tourists eager to hear the sermon he’d planned for A Current Affair. His long, curly hair and sparkly eyes glowed when he’d share his witness with the congregation. He’d shout and swoon and lash his tongue while rows fell out rolling in ecstasy around his raised pulpit. It pleased the deacons when the crazed, fainting crowds filled their baskets with money, but no one wondered when his eyes rolled a funny... Going into the Woods Live Poets Religion Satire Television Values mgmt 2008-09-18T17:09:24-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2008/09/for-the-boy-in.html http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/typepad/Damon/hollow/~3/6K47Te88kfc/mrs-schofield-1.html By Carol Ann Duffy The poem Carol Ann Duffy penned in response to her work being removed from a GCSE curriculum You must prepare your bosom for his knife, said Portia to Antonio in which of Shakespeare's Comedies? Who killed his wife, insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy? Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt's death? To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark - do you know what this means?... Books Lit Crit Live Poets My Old School Politics Protest Religion Satire Shakespeare Values mgmt 2008-09-06T16:23:30-04:00 http://www.serendipit-e.com/hollow/2008/09/mrs-schofield-1.html