Today I went for a picnic with my mother in the shadow of Salisbury cathedral. On a rug not far from us two women sat knitting and watching their children run barefoot through the bright green grass. Whenever they strayed too far, knitting needles were laid to rest, just for a moment, and a cry of "Barnaby! Felix!" reached the trees and the cold grey stone.
Barnaby? Felix?
I read an article in The Times last week about the correlation between a name and career success. "Naming consultants" can be hired to pick out a name best suited to get your child into Oxbridge.
This wasn't actually what I thought as I sat eating my tabouleh on the lawn. In my mind were two future kittens asleep at my feet while I read a book. Barnaby and Felix. Perfect.
to see the world the way I see it now
(Most Recent Entry)
introduction to poetry
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
-- Billy Collins
Every tear you cry
Every doubt you have
All of these things will pass away
All of your big mistakes
Your little old heart would break
Wishing that i could take them back
Write down the things you don't want
Burn them in a glass
Write down the things you dream of
Make a paper plane that flies to Heaven
-- Jann Arden
