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I didn’t know what got into me—I took a shot of my lunch with my phone camera. It was not because the prandium was great. Why, I only had fried fish, squash stewed in coconut milk, rice…
Neither this by Peter Paul Rubens, Nor any of the other paintings, Could ever show the first thing of The Resurrection of the Christ. Nobody saw it happening. The gardener, if there was any, Might have descried…
Of the unusual short stories that I have read, I must include “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson at the top. It gained the reputation of “one of the most famous short stories in the history of American…
I don’t have a green thumb. But I have a green heart. I mean I love to grow things, which, however, do not always thrive. No seed lying about will escape my hand, especially that of a…
Four years ago, I learned on TV about a huge gathering in a stadium in Dublin, Ireland. This caught my attention for three reasons. First, the stadium was Croke Park, where years ago I watched a hurling…
Authors use a literary technique called “foreshadowing.” They leave clues for the reader to foresee what might come later on in the story, such that when events unfold the reader does not feel cheated because in…
At one time I took a taxicab to go to my workplace. When we passed by a great number of houses in tight clusters, I told the driver that, for years, an extensive cornfield had thrived on…
The girl sat in front of us, a baby half her size across her lap, while to her left many other children, likewise in their preteens and selling candles, squat on the ledge that protruded from the…
The name Andrea del Verrocchio largely comes to us via a fifteenth-century painting, “The Baptism of Christ.” As its title indicates, the work relates to an incident by the Jordan river when John baptized Jesus, which marked…
Two leaves that turn around The same bud-pointed stem– How else depict the clock, Whose hands follow the sun Although it’s somewhere else, And now the year is ending, The new about to start. With you beside…
A friend invited me to join a project – a book that contained reproductions of her paintings of different doors. She asked me to write a poem to accompany one of the paintings. The invitation struck a…
December – how quickly we have moved into the month, and so imperceptibly that it makes no sense now to say, from there to here. We saw no thresholds, we made no entrances. Except that we had…
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