tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119005726153887242024-03-05T06:28:04.833-08:00Dans Les Reves"We shall by morning inherit the earth, our foot's in the door."
-Sylvia Plath, "Mushrooms"Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.comBlogger144125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-4829482066957210662011-03-24T11:32:00.000-07:002011-03-24T11:33:13.347-07:00Before<span style="font-style: italic;">By Carl Adamshick<br /><br /></span>I always thought death would be like traveling<br />in a car, moving through the desert,<br />the earth a little darker than sky at the horizon,<br />that your life would settle like the end of a day<br />and you would think of everyone you ever met,<br />that you would be the invisible passenger,<br />quiet in the car, moving through the night,<br />forever, with the beautiful thought of home.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-87939194938853870742011-03-24T11:29:00.001-07:002011-03-24T11:29:38.930-07:00Finding Emilie<embed flashvars="file=http://www.radiolab.org/audio/xspf/110206/&repeat=list&autostart=false&popurl=http://www.radiolab.org/audio/xspf/110206/%3Fdownload%3Dhttp%3A//www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/audio.wnyc.org/radiolab/radiolab012511c.mp3" quality="high" allowscriptaccess="always" wmode="transparent" src="http://www.radiolab.org/media/audioplayer/player5.swf" height="39" width="620"></embed><script type="text/javascript">(function(){var s=function(){__flash__removeCallback=function(i,n){if(i)i[n]=null;};window.setTimeout(s,10);};s();})();</script>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-12083311246939695902011-01-27T14:02:00.000-08:002011-01-27T14:05:43.566-08:00Vertical<span style="font-weight: bold;">By Linda Pastan<br /><br /></span>Perhaps the purpose<br />of leaves is to conceal<br />the verticality<br />of trees<br />which we notice<br />in December<br />as if for the first time:<br />row after row<br />of dark forms<br />yearning upwards.<br />And since we will be horizontal ourselves<br />for so long,<br />let us now honor<br />the gods<br />of the vertical:<br />stalks of wheat<br />which to the ant<br />must seem as high<br />as these trees do to us,<br />silos and<br />telephone poles,<br />stalagmites<br />and skyscrapers,<br />but most of all<br />these winter oaks,<br />these soft-fleshed poplars,<br />this birch<br />whose bark is like<br />roughened skin<br />against which I lean<br />my chilled head,<br />not ready<br />to lie down.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-22209135503109770982010-12-07T11:43:00.001-08:002010-12-07T11:43:32.581-08:00Sum<embed flashvars="file=http://www.radiolab.org/audio/xspf/91917/&repeat=list&autostart=false&popurl=http://www.radiolab.org/audio/xspf/91917/%3Fdownload%3Dhttp%3A//www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/audio.wnyc.org/radiolab_podcast/radiolab_podcast15sum.mp3" quality="high" allowscriptaccess="always" wmode="transparent" src="http://www.radiolab.org/media/audioplayer/player5.swf" height="39" width="620"></embed><script type="text/javascript">(function(){var s=function(){__flash__removeCallback=function(i,n){if(i)i[n]=null;};window.setTimeout(s,10);};s();})();</script>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-7510131385867398502010-09-14T08:37:00.000-07:002010-09-14T08:38:35.571-07:00Vocation<span style="font-style: italic;">By Sandra Beasley<br /><br /></span>For six months I dealt Baccarat in a casino.<br />For six months I played Brahms in a mall.<br />For six months I arranged museum dioramas;<br />my hands were too small for the Paleolithic<br />and when they reassigned me to lichens, I quit.<br />I type ninety-one words per minute, all of them<br /><i>Help</i>. Yes, I speak Dewey Decimal.<br />I speak Russian, Latin, a smattering of Tlingit.<br />I can balance seven dinner plates on my arm.<br />All I want to do is sit on a veranda while<br />a hard rain falls around me. I'll file your 1099s.<br />I'll make love to strangers of your choice.<br />I'll do whatever you want, as long as I can do it<br />on that veranda. If it calls you, it's your calling,<br />right? Once I asked a broker what he loved<br />about his job, and he said <i>Making a killing</i>.<br />Once I asked a serial killer what made him<br />get up in the morning, and he said <i>The people</i>.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-23931306594216615442010-08-08T09:21:00.000-07:002010-08-08T09:22:26.172-07:00I Am Not Yours<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><i>By Sara Teasdale</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br /></span></div>I am not yours, not lost in you,<br />Not lost, although I long to be<br />Lost as a candle lit at noon,<br />Lost as a snowflake in the sea.<br /><br />You love me, and I find you still<br />A spirit beautiful and bright,<br />Yet I am I, who long to be<br />Lost as a light is lost in light.<br /><br />Oh plunge me deep in love—put out<br />My senses, leave me deaf and blind,<br />Swept by the tempest of your love,<br />A taper in a rushing wind.</span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-62474586938166635342010-07-12T07:36:00.001-07:002010-07-12T07:36:54.155-07:00All the Whiskey in Heaven<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><i>By Charles Bernstein</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><i><br /></i></span></div>Not for all the whiskey in heaven<br />Not for all the flies in Vermont<br />Not for all the tears in the basement<br />Not for a million trips to Mars<br /><br />Not if you paid me in diamonds<br />Not if you paid me in pearls<br />Not if you gave me your pinky ring<br />Not if you gave me your curls<br /><br />Not for all the fire in hell<br />Not for all the blue in the sky<br />Not for an empire of my own<br />Not even for peace of mind<br /><br />No, never, I'll never stop loving you<br />Not till my heart beats its last<br />And even then in my words and my songs<br />I will love you all over again</span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-66888818453496855532010-06-18T09:28:00.000-07:002010-06-18T09:44:18.552-07:00Happy Birthday...to someone without whom I would not exist and without whom I would not be who I am today. <div>Happy Birthday to someone who always fought for what he believed in and put passion into everything that he did. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who wasn't afraid to cry, whether it was from joy or pain or pride. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who looked me in the eye and made me understand the importance of respect. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who took the time to enjoy small moments and helped me to appreciate them too by asking me to sit with him on the patio on summer evenings and just stare at the stars. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who's hands were rough from working day in and day out. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who helped me understand what it meant to have faith. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who was in pain almost every day of his life. Even though his limp showed it, his face did not. </div><div>Happy Birthday to a man that could fill a large gymnasium with people he touched in one way or another. </div><div>Happy Birthday to someone who wasn't perfect and knew it.</div><div>Happy Birthday to my role model.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Birthday Dad.</div><div> </div><div>Daniel J. Geis</div><div>(June 18th, 1962 - March 19th, 2007)</div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-20175950927931180112010-06-18T09:25:00.000-07:002010-06-18T09:26:07.478-07:00Insomnia<i>by Alicia Suskin Ostriker</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-size: 13px; ">But it's really fear you want to talk about<br />and cannot find the words<br />so you jeer at yourself<br /><br />you call yourself a coward<br />you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,<br />fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep<br /><br />buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows<br />and a quilt, they call them comforters,<br />which implies that comfort can be bought<br /><br />and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure<br />your two walnut chests of drawers snicker, the bookshelves mourn<br />the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you<br /><br />asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort<br />but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless<br />velvet drapes hiding the window<br /><br />traffic noise like a vicious animal<br />on the loose somewhere out there—<br />you brag to friends you won't mind death only dying<br /><br />what a liar you are—<br />all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain,<br />of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,<br /><br />they are all part of this!<br />Pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb<br />this glowing clock the single light in the room</span></i></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-88786010307927828042010-06-05T08:07:00.001-07:002010-06-05T08:07:37.424-07:00Summer Song<i>By William Carlos Williams</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-size: 13px; ">Wanderer moon<br />smiling a<br />faintly ironical smile<br />at this<br />brilliant, dew-moistened<br />summer morning,—<br />a detached<br />sleepily indifferent<br />smile, a<br />wanderer's smile,—<br />if I should<br />buy a shirt<br />your color and<br />put on a necktie<br />sky-blue<br />where would they carry me?</span></i></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-44968478713512649582010-06-01T20:38:00.001-07:002010-06-01T20:42:50.846-07:00A Greenwich Village Walking Tour<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqm3XuarIdDvBydsvAHcqpDdZ7aWZ_jGpb3o6ahePPb5FCYSOYJa5RxauJcx9qIojl5AX3Pp02xn92jf3PYuExvs7G8tff8Of4CvX_csgcYC1utsuOvAAuu7aTP0krs-oMmEnsASWK4_34/s1600/White+Horse+Tavern.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqm3XuarIdDvBydsvAHcqpDdZ7aWZ_jGpb3o6ahePPb5FCYSOYJa5RxauJcx9qIojl5AX3Pp02xn92jf3PYuExvs7G8tff8Of4CvX_csgcYC1utsuOvAAuu7aTP0krs-oMmEnsASWK4_34/s320/White+Horse+Tavern.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478015915043609954" /></a><br />I am posting a walking tour I wrote of the East and West Villages serially on my other blog, <a href="http://nebraskanthoughts.wordpress.com">Nebraskan Thoughts</a>. I highly recommend you check it out. Here's a taste!<div><br /></div><div><b>Stop #1: The White Horse Tavern</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 23px; "><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We start our tour on Hudson Street, deep in the West Village at the </span><em style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">White Horse Tavern</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, at the corner of 11</span><sup style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Street. This bar was a favorite spot for many members of the literary community during the early 1950s. It is particularly famous for being one of Dylan Thomas’s favorite haunts and the story is that he drank himself to death here, however, although he drank at the Tavern often, he did not drink himself to death and died of unrelated causes.</span></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Later on, this bar became an important spot for writers like Norman Mailer and Hunter S. Thompson. Musicians such as Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison also began to spend time in this establishment in the 1960s. It is also worth noting that Bob Dylan, originally Robert Zimmerman, supposedly took his name from Dylan Thomas.</span></p></span></b><div>Check out more <a href="http://en.wordpress.com/tag/from-the-lost-generation-to-the-punks/">HERE!</a></div><div><br /></div></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-23874025288746695192010-05-28T14:21:00.000-07:002010-05-28T14:22:38.989-07:00What to do with your new college graduate!A great <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2010/05/24/100524sh_shouts_rich">guide</a> for parents on what to do with college graduates from the New Yorker! ;-)Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-48723298602384912622010-05-27T19:58:00.000-07:002010-05-27T20:00:04.484-07:00Beat Photos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-Oc11-CQlRJPMungQx_TT-_m78vRhYNJqZJAuJp3uyxf0RorkLQtThwhQe8HgHdqrD_anxe8hu31t7getlC3Qv2CW206tq72QuUjfyG7wMMzOk1NhqKDKUWJWlk2-jluFvoALfoMpZ8I/s1600/intro.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-Oc11-CQlRJPMungQx_TT-_m78vRhYNJqZJAuJp3uyxf0RorkLQtThwhQe8HgHdqrD_anxe8hu31t7getlC3Qv2CW206tq72QuUjfyG7wMMzOk1NhqKDKUWJWlk2-jluFvoALfoMpZ8I/s320/intro.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476150255091113922" /></a><br />Some very interesting <a href="http://www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2010/ginsberg/#">photos</a> taken by Allen Ginsberg, on exhibit at the National Gallery of Art until September. I hope I can make it down to D.C. to check it out!<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-70645299030229295922010-05-27T19:39:00.001-07:002010-05-27T19:40:22.311-07:00New York in the MoviesThe classic movies that made me want to move here:<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://ahistoryofnewyork.com/2010/05/new-york-moviefone-mashup/">New York Movie Mashup</a></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-60640656993220725722010-05-25T12:19:00.000-07:002010-05-25T12:35:18.599-07:00Sometimes all you have is a feelingHaving just graduated with a B.A. from NYU, I have been thinking a lot about the past four years and my reasons for going to New York for college. I've been thinking about how the experience has changed me.<br /><br />Reading <a href="http://mrbellersneighborhood.com/2010/04/at-least-you-have-pride">"At Least You Have Pride,"</a> by Jennifer Paddock was an eerie experience for me. She speaks of so many feelings and experiences that I have felt in the last four years. It has me thinking even harder about my life in New York City and how it has shaped who I am.<br /><br />And the thought that plagues my mind even more than any else is, "Who am I?"Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-48697953194356770322010-05-23T09:57:00.000-07:002010-05-23T09:58:32.888-07:00Mixtape #1<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,28,0" width="100%" height="120" ><param name="movie" value="http://8tracks.com/mixes/119274/player_v2"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="FlashVars" value="bg_color=_000000"><embed FlashVars="bg_color=_000000" src="http://8tracks.com/mixes/119274/player_v2" pluginspage="http://www.adobe.com/shockwave/download/download.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="100%" height="120" allowscriptaccess="always" ></embed></object>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-41146776670393754642010-05-08T09:35:00.000-07:002010-05-08T10:06:03.325-07:00Wanderlust<span style="font-style: italic;">noun</span><br /><div>Etymology: German, from <em>wandern</em> to wander + <em>Lust</em> desire, pleasure</div><div>Date: 1875<br /><p class="d"> <strong>1:</strong> strong longing for or impulse toward wandering</p><p class="d"><span style="font-weight: bold;">2: </span>the feeling that keeps me up at night, that makes my fingers and toes itch, wanting to go, just to go, not concerned with where or when or how long it might take or what troubles could be encountered, just wanting to move one foot in front of the other until I am in a different place and a different time surrounded by strangers who seem more familiar to me than the people I have known my entire life, familiar strangers, the familiar sense of outsiderness, of not belonging, of being different, just want to go, go, go...<br /><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wandering" class="formulaic"></a></p><br /></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-88272862969928439172010-05-03T11:43:00.000-07:002010-05-03T11:44:02.132-07:009<span style="font-weight:bold;">By e.e. cummings</span><br /><br />there are so many tictoc<br />clocks everywhere telling people<br />what toctic time it is for<br />tictic instance five toc minutes toc<br />past six tic<br /><br />Spring is not regulated and does<br />not get out of order nor do<br />its hands a little jerking move<br />over numbers slowly<br /><br />we do not<br />wind it up it has no weights<br />springs wheels inside of<br />its slender self no indeed dear<br />nothing of the kind.<br /><br />(So,when kiss Spring comes<br />we'll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss<br />lips because tic clocks toc don't make<br />a toctic difference<br />to kisskiss you and to<br />kiss me)Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-59108707324499434582010-05-01T09:35:00.001-07:002010-05-01T09:35:31.697-07:00April<span style="font-weight:bold;">By James Schuyler</span><br /><br />The morning sky is clouding up <br />and what is that tree, <br />dressed up in white? The fruit <br />tree, French pear. Sulphur- <br />yellow bees stud the forsythia <br />canes leaning down into the transfer <br />across the park. And trees in <br />skimpy flower bud suggest <br />the uses of paint thinner, so <br />fine the net they cast upon <br />the wind. Cross-pollination <br />is the order of the fragrant day. <br />That was yesterday: today is May, <br />not April and the magnolias <br />open their goblets up and <br />an unseen precipitation <br />fills them. A gray day in May.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-81824611248580248662010-04-28T22:12:00.000-07:002010-04-28T22:13:46.862-07:00My Current Favorite Song.Jose Gonzalez covers a song by The Knife. It's such a hauntingly beautiful song. I melt every time I hear it. <br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/s4_4abCWw-w&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/s4_4abCWw-w&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-21590701812756457912010-04-17T09:50:00.001-07:002010-04-17T09:52:46.072-07:00Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine<object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://www.lala.com/external/flash/SingleSongWidget.swf" id="lalaSongEmbed" width="220" height="70"><param name="movie" value="http://www.lala.com/external/flash/SingleSongWidget.swf"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="allowNetworking" value="all"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="flashvars" value="songLalaId=504684637829290192&host=www.lala.com&partnerId=membersong.45213%40266631"/><embed id="lalaSongEmbed" name="lalaSongEmbed" src="http://www.lala.com/external/flash/SingleSongWidget.swf" width="220" height="70" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" wmode="transparent" allowNetworking="all" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="songLalaId=504684637829290192&host=www.lala.com&partnerId=membersong.45213%40266631"></embed></object><div style="font-size: 9px; margin-top: 2px;"><a href="http://www.lala.com/song/504684637829290192" title="Gloria - Patti Smith" target="_blank">Gloria - Patti Smith</a></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-59002290131903690202010-04-12T20:00:00.001-07:002010-04-12T20:00:42.609-07:00Subterranean Homesick Blues<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVvH0wKwgBc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVvH0wKwgBc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-57172679542472272010-04-11T18:10:00.000-07:002010-04-11T19:30:25.662-07:00HowlI have always loved this poem but we recently talked about it in my English class and listened to Ginsberg reading it aloud. Hearing it read aloud, particularly by Ginsberg is just phenomenal.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.sas.upenn.edu/pennsound/authors/Ginsberg/SFSU-1956/Ginsberg-Allen_04_Howl_SFSU_10-25-56.mp3">Howl by Allen Ginsberg</a>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-15359995288391252672010-04-11T06:27:00.000-07:002010-04-11T06:28:35.442-07:00Fireflies<span style="font-style:italic;">By Fred Chappell</span><br /><br />The children race now here by the ivied fence,<br />gather squealing now there by the lily border.<br />The evening calms the quickened air, immense<br />and warm; its veil is pierced with fire. The order<br />of space discloses as pair by pair porch lights<br />carve shadows. Cool phosphors flare when dark<br />permits yearning to signal where, with spark<br />and pause and spark, the fireflies are, the sites<br />they spiral when they aspire, with carefree ardor<br />busy, to embrace a star that draws them thence.<br /><br />Like children we stand and stare, watching the field<br />that twinkles where gold wisps fare to the end<br />of dusk, as the sudden sphere, ivory shield<br />aloft, of moon stands clear of the world's far bend.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I miss being a child and running through the backyard catching fireflies. I wish that all I had to worry about right now was if i poked enough holes in the lid of the firefly jar.</span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2011900572615388724.post-3147456954800290382010-04-01T13:29:00.000-07:002010-04-01T13:34:15.737-07:00The Sisters of Charity of New YorkI recently posted a long piece that I wrote last semester for my advanced reporting class on my other <a href="http://nebraskanthoughts.wordpress.com/">blog</a>. It was a very important piece for me personally because I was writing about religious life and I was constantly reminded of experiences from my childhood. In honor of the Easter holiday starting tonight (if you are Catholic like me), I thought I would post the link to it <a href="http://nebraskanthoughts.wordpress.com/2010/03/26/sisters-who-make-a-difference/">here</a> too. Below is the slideshow that I made to go with it.<br /><br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/K2hdTR22xlM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/K2hdTR22xlM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08281457481512041546noreply@blogger.com0