Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

April 5, 2013 § 1 Comment

Foot bath

Foot bath

I have a bad cold and can’t write much. The skin doctor told me the plot of a zombie show while I wasn’t allowed to open my mouth. I don’t like zombies. They have no charm, no wisdom, no horrible beauty or seductive evil, nothing that a good monster needs. Much scarier: phone calls from the dead.

I have two gifts for you, pretty pictures and climate news. Stick with the pictures if you don’t want the worrisome stuff. And remember that April is poetry month so there are likely some interesting events near you (for US residents only). Poets.org, national, and poetshouse.org, New York, list events. Go listen to some young or old or middle-aged poets! I’m talking to you.

As the legs close, the cat is squished
Cat caught between closing legs

Recent weather news from around the world:

“’Tsunami of Rain’leaves at Least 54 Dead in Argentina.”

“Australia broke 123 weather records in 90 days this summer. In January, Sydney hit a record 114 degrees and the south Australian town of Moomba hit 121.3 degrees”

“The British livestock industry is in crisis with tens of thousands of cattle and sheep having died in the cold. Cereal farmers have not recovered from last year’s deluges and winter crops and vegetables lie rotting in sodden, frozen, or snowbound fields.”

The Arctic, of course is warming and melting at breakneck speed, and the U.S. drought continues.

But, hey, it’s spring and Ramona is taking me out to dinner. Enjoy what you have, everyone. And remember to recommend me to anyone who needs an editor or some pretty jewelry.

(for my email readers mkdiehl.squarespace.com for editing; etsy.com/shop/margaretdiehl for jewelry.)


There will be no edges, but curves.
Clean lines pointing only forward.

History, with its hard spine & dog-eared
Corners, will be replaced with nuance,

Just like the dinosaurs gave way
To mounds and mounds of ice.

Women will still be women, but
The distinction will be empty. Sex,

Having outlived every threat, will gratify
Only the mind, which is where it will exist.

For kicks, we’ll dance for ourselves
Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs.

The oldest among us will recognize that glow—
But the word sun will have been re-assigned

To a Standard Uranium-Neutralizing device
Found in households and nursing homes.

And yes, we’ll live to be much older, thanks
To popular consensus. Weightless, unhinged,

Eons from even our own moon, we’ll drift
In the haze of space, which will be, once

And for all, scrutable and safe.

Tracy K. Smith


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§ One Response to Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

  • paradisparu says:

    And it snowed yesterday in Chartres and none of the trees have started to bud here.
    Sorry you’re sick, and we’ll see what happens with the world.

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