Take the chill off
In front of the Chinese electric stove
our fireplace of necessity at the Odd Fellows
We sit and await the nearly instant warming of the blues
Prompter than the baseboard heat
this little machine we love so much
works wonders, but slow on the marshmallows.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
"116" by William Shakespeare. Public domain
New writing by Garrison K.
The following was written by Dr. Bill Brown
Old Testament and Presbyterian minister
who is happy to have it shared:
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone
a must play:
Early on, I noticed that you always say it
to each of your children
as you are getting off the phone with them
just as you never fail to say it
to me whenever we arrive at the end of a call.
It's all new to this only child.
I never heard my parents say it,
at least not on such a regular basis,
nor did it ever occur to me to miss it.
To say I love you pretty much every day
would have seemed strangely obvious,
like saying I'm looking at you
when you are standing there looking at someone.
If my parents had started saying it
a lot, I would have started to worry about them.
Of course, I always like hearing it from you.
That is never a cause for concern.
The problem is I now find myself saying it back
if only because just saying good-bye
then hanging up would make me seem discourteous.
But like Bartleby, I would prefer not to
say it so often, would prefer instead to save it
for special occasions, like shouting it out as I leaped
into the red mouth of a volcano
with you standing helplessly on the smoking rim,
or while we are desperately clasping hands
before our plane plunges into the Gulf of Mexico,
which are only two of the examples I had in mind,
but enough, as it turns out, to make me
want to say it to you right now,
and what better place than in the final couplet
of a poem where, as every student knows, it really counts.
"I Love You" by Billy Collins from Aimless Love. © Random House, 2013
The Goshawk, downtown pigeon hunter,
prepares to rise on his wings
from beneath our Odd Fellows window.
He sits under the framing arch
of a street light at The Five Points.
I don't want set the world in fire
Rise up on wings like eagles...
It is not surprising that Hugely presumptuous
has himself a golden
Just be careful not to fly
too close to the wax-melting sun.
You're going down!