I ran with Dan
before the sun awoke
and played tennis with Tommy
as the evening broke.
For whatever reason 35 feels big to me. I’ve been thinking a lot about it and what I want it, and the time after it, to be, and inside the collection of Mary Oliver poems that I picked up at Tim’s Used Books in Provincetown last week I found a mighty fine answer.
Look, I want to love this world
as though it’s the last chance I’m ever going to get
to be alive
and know it.
Below is a beautiful poem by Donald Hall called Summer Kitchen which he wrote after the death of his wife Jane. It reminds me of my childhood, particularly my mother’s place in it. She, too, saw miracles in the ordinary.
College Roommate Danielle and I wandered into Harrison Memorial Library in Carmel-by-the-Sea after brunch today to hang out amongst free books when we happened upon a magnetic poetry board in the basement “Teen Lounge” which neither of us could pass by without making a contribution.
We were satisfied with our output, particularly the work titled “Corduroy”.
I promised Bevan that I’d watch Aquaman with him tonight if he watches Juliet, Naked with me this weekend so I ain’t gonna web log write nuthin’ new though I am gonna copy and paste a poem I spotted on the ground as I waited on a Muni platform after dining with my work team last night.
My name is Corey and I’m the author of this web log. I'm also left-handed, medium strong and probably craving chips right now.
Copyright © 2019 Corey Lambert.
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