Photo & Poem Gallery

Oh, when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof
And your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fire proof
Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, yeah
On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be
(Under the boardwalk) Out of the sun

Hello young lovers, whoever you are,
I hope your troubles are few
All my good wishes go with you tonight,
I've been in love like you
Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star,
Be brave and faithful and true,
Cling very close to each other tonight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung

Sumer is icumen in                      Summer has arrived
Lhude sing cuccu                         Loudly sing, cuckoo!
Groweþ sed                                 The seed is growing

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

This is my delight, 
thus to wait and watch at the wayside 
where shadow chases light 
and the rain comes in the wake of the summer. 

Messengers, with tidings from unknown skies, 
greet me and speed along the road. 
My heart is glad within, 

for Stephen Hawking

When we wake up brushed by panic in the dark
our pupils grope for the shape of things we know.

Photons loosed from slits like greyhounds at the track
reveal light’s doubleness in their cast shadows

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

What happens to a dream deferred?

                Does it dry up
                like a raisin in the sun?