"When I have a terrible need of - shall I say the word - religion. Then I go out and paint the stars." Vincent van Gogh

Happy Lunar New Year.

Today is Virginia Woolf's 128 birthday. She's not here anymore, but a few of my favorite quotes are still around, including:

"I meant to write about death, only life kept breaking in as usual."

new one.

{poem was here}

{for Dustin, because he likes these brackets}

{poem} {was} {here}

While I agree with Elizabeth Alexander that "love" is the mightiest word, I might add...that on a cold winter's night, when the wind has gone out of you a million ways, and the house is empty, and you're a bit blue, but a bit hopeful too, that a pretty mighty word might also be "royalty," followed by "statement," followed by "check." Ladies and gentlemen, I've officially made money off a song I wrote. And to top it all off, the letter began: "Dear Songwriter, Composer, and Publisher." Thanks Jason! Thanks Guiding Light!

Of Poetry, Service, and Hot Toddy's

Today, I'm thinking of service and Dr. King. And my dear friends and I are gathering coats for a coat drop and writing poetry and it's a good day of reflection. And a good day for a hot toddy. I'm a sucker for a good hot toddy in the middle of winter, and the other night, while at a new wine bar in the West Village, L'Artusi I had the best hot toddy I've ever had. It was gorgeous. And the very handsome server wrote down the recipe. So I thought I'd share it. I was with my two friends with whom I used to work at Martha Stewart Omnimedia, so we are prone to savoring things and talking about flavors and food. Oh and due to this hot toddy, we've all decided to go to Amsterdam in May. That's what a real good hot toddy can do.

Here's the recipe.

L'Artusi Hot Toddy

3/4 oz. lemon
1/2 oz. simple syrup
1/2 oz. Michters American Rye Whiskey
1 1/2 oz. chamomile grappa (!!)
4 oz. chamomile tea (!!)
4 dashes orange bitters

And then it started snowing.

New one.

{poem was here}

New Post on Harriet

Mystery & Birds

New glasses for new poetry.

For Deb:

How to Give Up—Give In

Someday, unbeknownst to the sorry
lot of the dark virile ghosts in your corner,
the blue moon will actually come.

Bruised by the stone glare of the limelight,
it’ll come to stand in your tenuous doorway,
ready to admit it’s been late in coming.

Leave the indolent lotus-eaters right
then and there, their gorgeous blond faces,
and go to work, your shoulder to the hard sky.

Stop blaming the heat, the weather is
not a response to your desire, or non-desire,
you are part weather, part flower-leaf waving.

Lieutenant of the present room, practice
more of those human blunders, less fast lies,
leave your fumbling empty to the glossies.

You can be taken down as easily as taken up,
leave your arms loose in the hour, your body
buoyed by your own coalition with the air.