This lovely, lazy, alarmingly warm Sunday afternoon was spent canoeing through the Raritan River by Princeton, NJ (for the first time ever!). After over 3 hours of canoeing, there was nothing my aching arms and body wanted more than food.

In My Image

Everyone has a different definition of love. Some people say it means “to like a lot”. Some say you are in love when you would do anything for a person, even die for them. I’ve even heard that love is “the soul’s recognition of its counterpart in another” (I think that’s from Wedding Crashers or something). Whatever your accepted definition of romantic love, it seems to be an emotion that drives people to do all sorts of things—things that someone not under its influence would call …

Poesia
Merry-time mangos in hand, I’m just a guy
tracing virtues without knowing what to do.
These days are endless, sleep lost in a planner;
parts of me subvert the whole, tripping a dance.

Deadheads—as devout fans of the legendary American jam band The Grateful Dead are colloquially called—often find it difficult to describe their fascination with all things Jerry, Phil, Weir, and Hunter,

Correspondence from an American Poet Abroad:

This past Sunday, the 21st of June, while party goers and pagans alike were celebrating the summer solstice at Stonehenge, there was a different kind of celebration in Paris- where I am living- a celebration of music. Sunday was the day of “la fête de la musique,” an annual tradition which began nearly 30 years ago.

Humanity is madness behind a closed curtain
Suffering outwardly- just enough to go unnoticed.
. . . . .

I walk outside after the sun has been up.
The rain has slicked down the morning streets.

I missed the rain,
Sitting in my car,
encapsulated by fogbound windows,

From the series “On Cemeteries”, from Rutgers own Edward Alan Bartholomew, the rest of which will be published in the coming weeks. Ed also managing The Wayfarer, a site dedicated to the facilitating the collaborative creative process between poets.

As Of Yet Untitled
With June all but behind us, and the Fourth of July just around the corner, I can finally say that summer is here in force. This is an interesting time for us Johnsonvillians. School has ended, and with it a major vibration of hustle and bustle has left the town. Thousands of Rutgers employees and students have migrated to their summer homes, leaving only a few summer-scholars to pepper the otherwise sardine can style streets.