Category: Poetry

To me beauty is the acceptance of oneself, the appreciation even, letting our qualities, or the quality of our creations, shine out, regardless and heedless of the opinions of others.

A thing, an act, an atmosphere is beautiful when it engages the heart, the intellect, the past, and the body, which is the present as well as the gift.

No drought, no summer of heat in the hundred-teens, no monsoon / or long gone prohibition against our kind will kill us. Our stoicism / lives on to offer applause to the windstorms, that seasonal ushering.

It started with a list of made up words for kinds of snow, followed by their definitions, and short poems as explication. It was, of course, strange to be writing about snow while in Thailand…

The moment of the last breath lingers and silence envelops the room. The intimacy of such a scene contains a certain beauty that can only be experienced by those who are present. Beauty is art. Beauty is life. Beauty is pain and suffering. Beauty is joy and glory.