Pinned toot

For friends among the hashtags I regularly use -- etc -- I am going to pull back in most digital spaces for the month of July (as I do every year). I may still jump in now and then, but nothing with any regularity. I hope you all keep writing.

Pinned toot

Perhaps I need to do another here, since it has been some time since I did it last. My regular forays here include composing , writing , sharing and other connected sharing threads. If you write there, I'll try to respond. I may even remix as a way to honor your writing. I try to keep my heart and mind open.

“Beats without voices soon become monotonous. Rhymes in isolation expose the frailty of the human voice and the fallibility of the rapper’s vocal rhythms. Together, however, beats and rhythm find strength: The voice gives the beat humanity and variety; the beat gives the rhyme a reason for being and a margin for error.”

-- from Book of Rhymes (The Poetics of Hip Hop) by Adam Bradley, page 7

at night,
beneath the

the stage,
beckons -
the audience,
silent -

at dawn,
lamps flicker,
then all falls

— for

“You are also inhaling cosmic dust, the leftovers from things broken down in the outer atmosphere, which reach your insides in tiny yet massive amounts; you will definitely be breathing in particles from a meteoroid at some point this year.”

-- from Eating the Sun: Small Musings on a Vast Universe, by Ella Frances Sanders, page 55

The old men
settle in as
stoop watchers,
as joyful
stair talkers,
every single
street walker


A quiet, musical today -- walking the woods of Vermont in late afternoon -- for

“While prose writers usually break their lines wherever the page demands -- when they reach the margin, when the computer drops their word to the next line -- poets claim that power for themselves, ending lines in ways that underscore the specific design of their verse. Rap poets are no different.”

-- from Book of Rhymes (The Poetics of Hip Hop) by Adam Bradley, from introduction, page xii

Red orange yellow orbs,
like fallen planets,
held together with
tangled vines, and
roots that resist
our pulling, loosening
the grip of summer
as cold nights tamp
down the garden light,
the field is turning


We were in the midst of a casual discussion when I couldn't help but notice the lovely tree in their yard. It had huge olive yellow leaves, like soft hands reaching out to caress the wind. Right now, in Autumn, we notice the trees more than any other season. This one brought us to observational silence. The three of us stared at it in appreciation. Then, he explained how she had planted this tree, some 25 years earlier. "And now," she told me, "it has shoots all over the forest."

“Lines of lyrics pass across your mind’s eye while the sound from the speakers vibrates your eardrums. For the first time, you see how the two fit together -- the sight and the sound. Rap hasn’t changed, but you have. This is the poetry of hip hop.”

-- from Book of Rhymes (The Poetics of Hip Hop) by Adam Bradley, from introduction, page x

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Ten Words. In My Wallet. – Impedagogy Everyday struggles undertaken every day--that's the wellspring of courage.

“Let the stories structure themselves, unfettered by formulas or preconceived notions … A story creates its own blueprint as it unfolds.”

-- from Cartooning: Philosophy and Practice by Ivan Brunetti, page 67

As kids barrel barefoot
along concrete
sidewalks, scraped
knees and skinned
shins attest to
the uneven surface
lives of this city

this urban landscape
remains mapped,
poured and nearly

but for the roots
of these old trees,
patient and persistent,
the street-side prison
just won't hold


“Writing is a technology that removes the body from the language. That’s its greatest advantage -- it’s easier to transport and store words on paper or in bytes than embodied in an entire living human or hologram of one.”

-- from Because Internet (Understanding the New Rules of Language) by Gretchen McCulloch, page 156

Awe and wonder
and worry
all crowd the world
in the aftermath
of the storm

where trees stood,
now are only roots,
thin fingers of time
reaching out

where windows, shattered;
where doors, cracked;
where rocks, moved;
where possession, gone

Each day passes
but the storm
still lingers


“It was a brief moment in American history when people didn’t need to be reminded of basic kindness and humanity or to be prompted to sing in harmony together. Unfortunately … that moment passed.”

-- from A Dream About Lightning Bugs (A Life of Music and Cheap Lessons) by Ben Folds, page 246,

If every petal
of every flower
in every meadow
broke suddenly
free —
what a miraculous
sight that would be
for us to see


“Cherish your curiosity.”

-- from A Velocity of Being: Letters to a Young Reader, edited by Maria Popova and Claudia Bedrick, from a letter by David Delgado, page 154

There must have been
a time when people sat
around the table and
envisioned this whole place
on paper —

those who designed
this city space
we live in, day to
day to day —

I wonder at the eraser
marks, the discarded
drafts, the city blocks
and tree parks, the
conversation flow

as our feet hit concrete,
these streets we call home


“Our hands …. can hold a reader fixed, making her feel not her own time but the time we devise. A story covering millennia can flit by in six minutes. A storyworld of just a minute can burn four hours in your life. It’s magic, but a magic that can be mapped, which I suppose makes it technology.”

-- from Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative by Jane Alison, page 45

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