As if to remind you that, regardless of what they say, you yourself are an island. Nothing but the grass grows there.
Feras Terrae
Longing
I go home to Pune, filled with wistful anticipation tinged with dread. As we hold hands and walk down the streets we once loved, the changes are all around us.
The Killer Who Sang for the Kids
Imagine, if you can, a record producer coming to his boss with an idea for a new album; a collection of children’s songs by a black man who has been imprisoned several times, once for killing a relative in a fight over a woman, a second time for attempted murder of a white man.
The swiftness with which such a proposal and its author would be dispatched today would set a land speed record for rejection of cockamamie ideas.
Tullamore
For centuries a whiskey town Distilling Molloy's firewater And a Phoenix town Risen from the flames Of accidental destruction Caused by a hot air balloon; The first ever aviation disaster Here in Ireland.
A Short Essay on “An Anonymous Story”
I got a free app to keep track of my reading. I don’t know, but I thought it might be helpful. It has a star rating system which I find absurd. Trying to co-operate, not my best thing, I decided the Bible and Shakespeare rated a 5 and anything else had to be no more than a 4.