From lrobpoet at sonic.net  Mon Jul 13 06:17:00 2026
From: lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Mon, 13 Jul 2026 06:17:00 -0700
Subject: Livingston Suite - Jim Harrison
Message-ID: <4AFF4598-91EC-4B8A-97F7-54910366BF15@sonic.net>

?Livingston Suite

Shorn of nature, 
here but in small supply, 
townspeople adore their dogs. 
Our dogs have never lived 
in a town. Neither have I 
since 1967. I adore 
the puzzlement of our dogs. 
Each morning I walk four blocks 
to this immense river, 
surprised that it?s still there, 
that it won?t simply disappear 
into the ground like the rest of us. 
In the burnt July air 
the strange cool odor 
of sprinkler water
creating its own little breeze 
in the Livingston Park 
where there are twelve rings for playing 
horseshoes built before the fathers of lies 
built the clouds above our heads.
In 1968 when I was first here 
there was a cool scent of pines 
and melting snow from the mountains 
carried by a southwind through the river?s 
canyon. The scent is still here, 
the sure fresh odor of the West.
A concert in the park on the 4th of July sponsored 
by the networks in New York. Someone named Sheryl Crow,
Hank Williams Junior not Senior, and my old favorite, 
Los Lobos. As a claustrophobe I can?t walk the four blocks
into the crowds but from my studio 
I can hear the Latino music wafting through maple 
trees, imagining I?m at our winter casita near Patagonia, 
Arizona, on the Mexican border, the music so much 
closer to love and death than our own, the heart
worn on the sleeve, the natural lament of flowers, the moon visible. Smiling skeletons are allowed to dance 
and the gods draw closer to earth, the cash registers 
drowned out in the flight of birds, the sound of water.

	- Jim Harrison
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Tue Jul 14 05:54:51 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2026 05:54:51 -0700
Subject: Who Are The Lightworkers? - Jan Corbett
Message-ID: <BF68E752-182A-45BC-9D5F-284F310EFCED@sonic.net>

Who Are The Lightworkers?

In this age of 
seeming darkness,
Light shines,
coupling and embracing
in spite of all manipulatioins.

I see this Light
behind the face of fear 
as my housekeeper sweeps.

Or in the Light emanating from
newspaper boy?s arm
as the bad news flies through the air 
hitting the ground.

Even in supporters? eyes,
I see the Light held in their cheeks.
We all know who
the Supporters are.

They need this name due
to the frailty of untruth and darkness.

You are the Light and it is Here now.

	- Jan Corbett
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Wed Jul 15 05:40:08 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Wed, 15 Jul 2026 05:40:08 -0700
Subject: The Mystery - Dorothy Walters
Message-ID: <594EA901-1E7E-4500-A7BE-42771BFDA643@sonic.net>

The Mystery
 
Some come at it
with weights and measures,
some waving a sieve.
Some sing to it,
ballads and carols,
hoping to coax forth
its hidden center,
unwind the sheath
of who it is.
Some tap on it,
or deal heavy blows
with hammers,
trying to smash
its thick shield
force it to bow down.
Some seek ways to clamber in,
explore its hidden vaults
and chambers.
 
Some lie down beside it,
breathe its cool scent,
become its own self.
 
	- Dorothy Walters
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Thu Jul 16 05:52:08 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Thu, 16 Jul 2026 05:52:08 -0700
Subject: Pity The Nation - Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Message-ID: <FB666CFA-43A1-44E5-86D7-FD5E1112B9BA@sonic.net>

Pity The Nation 
	(After Khalil Gibran)

Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose
sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully
as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by
torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but
its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation--oh, pity the people who allow
their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.

	- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Fri Jul 17 05:43:34 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2026 05:43:34 -0700
Subject: Wellness Check - Andrea Gibson
Message-ID: <8570404B-2AD8-4688-AA77-8C30224EE241@sonic.net>

Wellness Check

In any moment
on any given day,
I can measure
my wellness
by this question:

Is my attention on loving,
or is my attention on
who isn?t loving me?

	- Andrea Gibson
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Sat Jul 18 05:50:48 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Sat, 18 Jul 2026 05:50:48 -0700
Subject: The Stream - Gary Horvitz
Message-ID: <C4A7B804-EE22-451A-8EDC-B561EFCBA733@sonic.net>

The Stream
 
Joy is neither the residue nor
the cause of happiness
Joy stands like an ancient oak
in a barren field listening
unmoved by any tribulation
 
roots so deep that drought
cannot touch them
leaves so broad and branches
so wide that even the blazing 
sun is tamed 
 
Joy makes its own weather
laughing through the hail
singing through the blizzard
moving not a muscle 
even as flood waters rise  
 
Joy is the stream and 
you the trout effortlessly
nosing forward 
in sacred aikido 
with whatever comes             
                                  
	- Gary Horvitz
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From Lrobpoet at sonic.net  Sun Jul 19 05:40:35 2026
From: Lrobpoet at sonic.net (Lawrence Robinson)
Date: Sun, 19 Jul 2026 05:40:35 -0700
Subject: But We Had Music - Maria Popova
Message-ID: <C9D9A216-E1F2-4E75-AF05-29B9953BFEF1@sonic.net>

But We Had Music

Right this minute
across time zones and opinions
people are
making plans
making meals
making promises and poems

while

at the center of our galaxy
a black hole with the mass of
four billion suns
screams its open-mouth kiss
     of oblivion.

Someday it will swallow
Euclid?s postulates and the Goldberg Variations,
swallow calculus and Leaves of Grass.

I know this.

And still
when the constellation of starlings
flickers across the evening sky,
it is     enough

to stand here
for an irrevocable minute
     agape with wonder. 

It is     eternity.


	- Maria Popova
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