Counting on Him

He’s thirty-three, for Chrissake,
thirty three. Thirty fucking three.
Three, three. This year
he turns thirty-four.
And he’s still expecting me
to sort his life out. What have I done
to get to deal with all his shit?
Some times he forgets
I’m still twenty-one.

Overheard outside the Southbank Centre, London, on 2 February 2013. By Judi Sutherland.

Last Act

They came to stay
For days and days
To support me, be with me
At this sad time.

Drove me to the store
Then waited outside
At a respectful distance
From the cash register

They went to the cinema
Made me a sandwich
Giving me space
To be alone

They want to be sure
Everything is organised
To take some of the strain
Like finding the Will.

I have it.
I’m in it.
They’re not.

A conversation with an elderly bereaved relative, 18 January 2013. By Yanto Cramer.

What it sounds like to be without windows

Sabayon Haiku
Bodhi Saluki Fusion
Dragonfly Hybryde

Peppermint Chakra
Absolute Vine Vyatta
Cinnamon Zenwalk

Ultimate Pinguy
Arios Porteus Fedora
Damn Small Manjaro

Quirky Aurora
YellowDog Deepin Redo
Puppy Tails Antix

Elementary Kwort
Calculate Zorin Vector
Backtrack Mandriva

From a list of the most popular free software offerings (mostly operating systems) that provide alternatives to Microsoft Windows. By Geoff Blanchard.

Sorry to hear about Bubbles

Charlotte commented on your photo
hope you’re ok?
r u not by a computer?
I know you must be feeling bloody sad
u r doin the rite thing 4 her
not to let her suffer
I will try and cheer u up
when i next pass that way
you gave her a lovely life
huggs will comfort u thru the night
her body will slip away quietly
plz stay warm in your water bourne nest
happens to us all
goodnight x x x
Reply with your comment or “like”.

From the last 22 messages in my phone’s inbox. By Winston Plowes.

Poets say

science takes away
from the beauty of stars –
mere globs
of gas atoms

Nothing is “mere”.
I too see the stars
on a desert night
and feel them.

But do I see less or more?

What is the pattern,
or the meaning,
or why?

It does not do harm
to the mystery
to know a little more about it.

Far more marvellous
is the truth
than any artists
of the past
imagined it.

From The Feynman Lectures on Physics (1964). By Lisa Oliver.

Wasted art

I was drinking a coffee the other day
Watching several adolescent girls at another table.
Suddenly, they launched
Into snapping one another
And thereafter progressed
To taking self portraits.

This style of vain,
Self-absorbed activity
Is the lowest level
Taking photos can probably
Descend to.

Considering that,
If you are the only
Truly worthwhile point
Of interest,
In all of life’s
Rich tapestry,
Then you might have failed
To detect a few essential
Hints
In the path of learning
What life is
Ultimately about.

From The Advantages Of Photography As A Hobby. By Cami Hernandez.

Paired birds of Franciscan brown

If Brother Julian was gardening in front of the friary,
Brother Adrian weeded in the back.
If Adrian was driving the van, Julian sat by his side.
Preparing the altar for chapel,
chopping wood for kindling,
exulting in ice cream at the Twist & Shake:
the twins were together, always.

Workers, not teachers, so ever-present as to be unseen.
Taken for granted, like the rushing hush
of the Allegheny River at the university’s edge,
or the back-and-forth of birdsong.

Brother Julian became the sacristan,
Brother Adrian the chauffeur,
but they also built the bookshelves,
maintained the garden, cleared the shrines in the woods
and rarely spoke unless invited.

How they adorned the friary trees with birdhouses.
How they toured the campus on identical bicycles.
How they often sat in prayer in the chapel,
so still that you might not know they were there.

From For Franciscan Twins, Simple Lives Had Depth (NYT). By Angi Holden.