<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731</id><updated>2011-07-28T03:48:17.845-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Voice of the Turtle</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>94</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-114688604191346778</id><published>2006-03-28T20:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:29:44.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PATCHWORK MUSIC</title><content type='html'>When nothing here is certain&lt;br /&gt;but that time is rolling on,&lt;br /&gt;ring up your eyelids’ curtain&lt;br /&gt;and greet rosy-fingered Dawn,&lt;br /&gt;and ivory-footed Sarah&lt;br /&gt;in her floor-length purple gown,&lt;br /&gt;tapping time on polished floorboards&lt;br /&gt;waiting till the sun goes down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s forget the slings and arrows,&lt;br /&gt;and we’ll rosin up the bow!&lt;br /&gt;Call the tune and pay the piper&lt;br /&gt;so he’ll play a song we know.&lt;br /&gt;Pay respect and pay attention&lt;br /&gt;when you pay a living wage&lt;br /&gt;to the slatterns in the kitchen&lt;br /&gt;and the yokels on the stage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you’ll be my two-bar pickup,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll play rhythm to your lead,&lt;br /&gt;and we’ll truck across the ballroom&lt;br /&gt;as our righteous feet take speed.&lt;br /&gt;Cut a rug or cut a caper,&lt;br /&gt;if you’ll just cut to the chase –  &lt;br /&gt;get your picture in the paper&lt;br /&gt;where the footling folk embrace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can cross my palm with silver,&lt;br /&gt;since I’m easily led to gold,&lt;br /&gt;and I’ll be your major miner&lt;br /&gt;till the Kingdom’s keys are sold.&lt;br /&gt;Here’s a penny for your thoughts&lt;br /&gt;and a dollar for your day,&lt;br /&gt;but that’s what you get for thinking&lt;br /&gt;when you dance the night away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 28, 2006&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-114688604191346778?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/114688604191346778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=114688604191346778' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/114688604191346778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/114688604191346778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html' title='PATCHWORK MUSIC'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-114277594645006651</id><published>2006-02-28T17:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:28:49.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>GOODBYE TO PETE</title><content type='html'>The floodlit fountain in the winter pond&lt;br /&gt;lighting the water from underneath&lt;br /&gt;lifts a plume of chill spray into the teeth&lt;br /&gt;of a sleety wind across the trees to the road beyond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same road, the same sleet, and the same night&lt;br /&gt;unroll before the wheels of your decrepit car.&lt;br /&gt;The radio is on. You’re content where you are,&lt;br /&gt;with a hand on the wheel, at the edge of my sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lighter flicks to a cupped cigarette under&lt;br /&gt;your face, and the smoke blows out the window vent.&lt;br /&gt;You turn and grin. It makes me wonder&lt;br /&gt;how you could be gone, and where the years went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The words will come, but words are no good.&lt;br /&gt;You were patient and loyal and good and true.&lt;br /&gt;The heart must go where no words could:&lt;br /&gt;on this side of the veil is no likeness of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ground has been closed now, and there you lie,&lt;br /&gt;breathing the sod from underneath,&lt;br /&gt;while above you grass blades bend in the teeth&lt;br /&gt;of a chill wind, with a few flakes flickering by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ground has been closed; the world waits for the sun.&lt;br /&gt;Some have tomorrows. Some must wake&lt;br /&gt;and roll away the stone. It is for their sake&lt;br /&gt;the verses continue, the song not quite done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 28, 2006&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-114277594645006651?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/114277594645006651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=114277594645006651' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/114277594645006651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/114277594645006651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html' title='GOODBYE TO PETE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111678323754805964</id><published>2005-02-28T10:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-19T05:46:51.583-08:00</updated><title type='text'>SONG OF DETERMINANCE</title><content type='html'>The early leaves must steal the sun;&lt;br /&gt;the roots must drink the rain.&lt;br /&gt;So call the tune for everyone&lt;br /&gt;to sing the sad refrain:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As prescience in retrospect,&lt;br /&gt;the seasons must unfold.&lt;br /&gt;The Word devolves to dialect;&lt;br /&gt;the new brings forth the old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As footprints to your snowy boot&lt;br /&gt;your wandering steps precede,&lt;br /&gt;noble events along their route&lt;br /&gt;the churlish moments lead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So things must be the way they are;&lt;br /&gt;there is no other choice.&lt;br /&gt;No use to wish upon a star.&lt;br /&gt;No need to raise your voice.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Decide instead to make believe&lt;br /&gt;what freedom would provide.&lt;br /&gt;Decide to practice to deceive.&lt;br /&gt;Pretend you can decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 28, 2005&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111678323754805964?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111678323754805964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111678323754805964' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678323754805964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678323754805964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html' title='SONG OF DETERMINANCE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111678345830932489</id><published>2005-02-23T10:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T11:25:20.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE LOVE SONG OF ANNE HEDONIA</title><content type='html'>I vow that I will learn to love Dysphoria:&lt;br /&gt;You surely will become my latest craze!&lt;br /&gt;The question must be: How do I adore you?&lt;br /&gt;It’s too much work for me to count the ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here’s to misery! I salute you,&lt;br /&gt;A succotash of suffering to behold,&lt;br /&gt;And pray that no morsel of joy pollute you,&lt;br /&gt;Nor ever turn my woeful lead to gold. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring on the armies of lugubriation!&lt;br /&gt;Each gloomy foe I will embrace as friend,&lt;br /&gt;And so await with dread anticipation&lt;br /&gt;The melancholic dirge that knows no end. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My head is in the sand. My ass is in a sling.&lt;br /&gt;Discomfort, ‘tis of thee! Of thee I sing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 23, 2005&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111678345830932489?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111678345830932489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111678345830932489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678345830932489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678345830932489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html' title='THE LOVE SONG OF ANNE HEDONIA'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111678486512491895</id><published>2004-10-15T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T11:24:24.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TEMPORAL JIGSAWS</title><content type='html'>Look back at one whose whole life lay ahead,&lt;br /&gt;the tolerant master of unfolding time,&lt;br /&gt;a future locutor of words unsaid&lt;br /&gt;not yet supine in any unmade bed&lt;br /&gt;nor revenant to uncommitted crime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look back and claim a prize now judged complete.&lt;br /&gt;See,  instead of a looming &lt;i&gt;ouverture&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;an &lt;i&gt;oeuvre &lt;/i&gt;borne by an oaf on stumbling feet&lt;br /&gt;headlong downstairs to crash into the street,&lt;br /&gt;a fallen egg past any hope or cure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will men and horses put this puzzle right&lt;br /&gt;here on the table? And under a chair:&lt;br /&gt;the missing piece! A wedge of summer light&lt;br /&gt;slips into place. Observe this gorgeous night&lt;br /&gt;and depart, to take refreshment elsewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 15, 2004&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111678486512491895?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111678486512491895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111678486512491895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678486512491895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678486512491895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html' title='TEMPORAL JIGSAWS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111678565454623400</id><published>2003-05-08T11:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T11:23:30.706-07:00</updated><title type='text'>REMEMBERING SHELAGH</title><content type='html'>Of the many who knew the many of you&lt;br /&gt;there were few enough who knew you well,&lt;br /&gt;and of the stories that are ours to tell,&lt;br /&gt;a myriad versions, and all of them true:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A gutsiness of life and love,&lt;br /&gt;an eyebrow arched, a toss of the hair,&lt;br /&gt;the level gaze and the withering stare,&lt;br /&gt;a fist of iron in a velvet glove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother and daughter, sister and friend:&lt;br /&gt;how shall we cope with your laughter gone?&lt;br /&gt;Too lately begun to have reached this end,&lt;br /&gt;a spring afternoon on a shaded lawn.&lt;br /&gt;Accept if you will this bitter rhyme,&lt;br /&gt;and be with us here this one last time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 8, 2003&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111678565454623400?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111678565454623400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111678565454623400' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678565454623400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678565454623400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html' title='REMEMBERING SHELAGH'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111678591172721940</id><published>2003-04-10T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T11:20:40.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>VERNAL REBUS</title><content type='html'>Translucent gold in the canopy;&lt;br /&gt;raspberries and cream at eye level throughout the woods;&lt;br /&gt;damp underfoot and damp overhead;&lt;br /&gt;the necessity of a verb:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A newly-awakened tree frog&lt;br /&gt;balances on a flimsy branch, while below&lt;br /&gt;the coil of a black racer unwinds&lt;br /&gt;an iridescent rivulet across the asphalt&lt;br /&gt;in search of the warmth from&lt;br /&gt;a newly-emergent sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Just down the hill&lt;br /&gt;the scattered petals of peach blossoms&lt;br /&gt;eddy in a placid pool before draining&lt;br /&gt;in a trickle between twin banks of new growth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read it from the script; chant it; shout it;&lt;br /&gt;celebrate in counterpoint with the wren&lt;br /&gt;all the secret blessings of the light!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 10, 2003&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111678591172721940?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111678591172721940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111678591172721940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678591172721940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111678591172721940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html' title='VERNAL REBUS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111688939075066023</id><published>2002-11-19T16:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T16:03:10.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE MISTAKES OF HISTORY</title><content type='html'>One-eyed now, with a stump for one leg&lt;br /&gt;and a wide healed-over shell-crack,&lt;br /&gt;an ochre-blotched box turtle sets out&lt;br /&gt;across the hot asphalt in a rapid ragtime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;whish-whish-thump, whish-whish-thump. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it just plain stupidity, belying the innumerable&lt;br /&gt;worn annuations on the shell-scutes?&lt;br /&gt;Or is it simply absolute determination?&lt;br /&gt;Whatever the answer may be, the red-freckled eye&lt;br /&gt;stares unswerving through the heat-shimmered morning&lt;br /&gt;as he crosses that road again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 19, 2002&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111688939075066023?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111688939075066023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111688939075066023' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688939075066023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688939075066023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html' title='THE MISTAKES OF HISTORY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111688958354973484</id><published>2002-11-07T16:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T16:06:23.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TURN AND BOW</title><content type='html'>Hold up a mask before the heart.&lt;br /&gt;A comedic grin or grotesque grimace will suffice&lt;br /&gt;to hide the raw red pump and squeeze.&lt;br /&gt;One might glimpse the soggy mass through an eyehole&lt;br /&gt;or the narrow gap in the picket teeth,&lt;br /&gt;or maybe not. Still, it would remain the same.&lt;br /&gt;Remove the mask and the blue and pink&lt;br /&gt;of all too fleshy throb and flood of viscous life&lt;br /&gt;are there exposed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To understand it, shrink down small and go inside.&lt;br /&gt;Traverse the arteries and veins, observe the plaque,&lt;br /&gt;dodging corpuscles on the way.&lt;br /&gt;But remember that you ride with Heisenberg:&lt;br /&gt;your presence matters. Watch out for vigilant leucocytes!&lt;br /&gt;Or, impacting the vessel wall, you may cause a clot...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best to withdraw and replace the mask.&lt;br /&gt;All the other parts have theirs, one for the lungs,&lt;br /&gt;another for the feet, and all are moving in the dance.&lt;br /&gt;Assume a stance under the flickering crystal chandelier,&lt;br /&gt;arms poised, ready to begin the grand pavane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 7, 2002&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111688958354973484?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111688958354973484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111688958354973484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688958354973484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688958354973484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html' title='TURN AND BOW'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111688970467158455</id><published>2002-02-22T16:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-06-04T08:24:41.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DISAPPEARING ACT</title><content type='html'>Drive down White Rock Road on a bright February day&lt;br /&gt;and see the cedars suck up all the light,&lt;br /&gt;leaving a token remnant of red wavelengths&lt;br /&gt;in the outermost and upper fringes&lt;br /&gt;but taking everything else, all luminance gone&lt;br /&gt;except for the holes where sky color peeks through&lt;br /&gt;the interweaving of tiny branches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feel the wind that feathers through the trees,&lt;br /&gt;drying up all moisture, turning skin into crackling,&lt;br /&gt;and sniff the lack of smell: no piny tang&lt;br /&gt;or scent of bare earth survives its desiccating chill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Return next week and hear sound hushed by snow.&lt;br /&gt;Bird calls, idle chatter, flageolet and sackbut —&lt;br /&gt;all vanish into the baroque silence.&lt;br /&gt;Strain to detect even a thin whisper&lt;br /&gt;in the falling flakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;And so the poet,&lt;br /&gt;now a mere shadow of his former self,&lt;br /&gt;creates new absence. In the white page&lt;br /&gt;black cutouts of words appear, recounting&lt;br /&gt;once and for all, in bold and orotund detail,&lt;br /&gt;that which is most emphatically not here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 22, 2002&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111688970467158455?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111688970467158455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111688970467158455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688970467158455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688970467158455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html' title='DISAPPEARING ACT'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111688979676903091</id><published>2002-02-12T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T16:09:56.770-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE AMPLITUDE OF TIME</title><content type='html'>Year after year the tread of the tractor wheel&lt;br /&gt;rumbles over same patch of ground,&lt;br /&gt;imprinting in the dead vegetation&lt;br /&gt;the same flat chevrons, just ahead of the discs&lt;br /&gt;that that turn it all again to earth and worm,&lt;br /&gt;and, after ordering the components,&lt;br /&gt;convert them to the sap and flesh of spring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some years the land lies fallow for the hay&lt;br /&gt;to be taken twice if the rain is right.&lt;br /&gt;In the winter of such a year the haloed moon&lt;br /&gt;throws deep shadow across a tall cedar&lt;br /&gt;down the ravine straight towards the pole star,&lt;br /&gt;rippling over the withered corpses&lt;br /&gt;of blackberry and honeysuckle there&lt;br /&gt;beyond the jurisdiction of the plough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next day in the field just before the snow&lt;br /&gt;the remains of grasses, almost purple,&lt;br /&gt;pick out the orange stubble of the broomstraw,&lt;br /&gt;and the ever-optimistic wild onions&lt;br /&gt;form a haze of teal among the gold of flattened stems.&lt;br /&gt;They all combine to fling down a quilted grid&lt;br /&gt;over the knees and ankles of the entire ridge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so this intricate colored inlay&lt;br /&gt;dogs the footpath that leads to the muddy track&lt;br /&gt;and the gravel that empties out onto the county road,&lt;br /&gt;following the fencerows all the way to town,&lt;br /&gt;where the street lights flip by, passing the brick school&lt;br /&gt;from the thirties behind a grove of bare maples,&lt;br /&gt;a darkened classroom, and a blackboard,&lt;br /&gt;where, year after year, a history teacher&lt;br /&gt;writes and erases the same three words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the snow, when the thaw begins, stalks and husks&lt;br /&gt;reappear cross-hatched against a whitened base,&lt;br /&gt;and a line of dark melt picks out the old path&lt;br /&gt;that once ran from the spring to the first house on the ridge,&lt;br /&gt;circling the site of the foundation&lt;br /&gt;whose absent stones were hauled off long ago&lt;br /&gt;to build the chimneys at the main house in the grove.&lt;br /&gt;After the fire in sixty-five they collapsed&lt;br /&gt;between the ancient oaks which stand there yet,&lt;br /&gt;rusty lower leaves still clinging tenaciously&lt;br /&gt;over luminous patterns in the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 12, 2002&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111688979676903091?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111688979676903091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111688979676903091' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688979676903091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111688979676903091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html' title='THE AMPLITUDE OF TIME'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111689000110203369</id><published>2002-02-02T16:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T16:18:12.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SUZERAINTY</title><content type='html'>To be a lord, to loaf again at ease&lt;br /&gt;and guard anew one’s old ancestral tongue,&lt;br /&gt;preserving all its might intact among&lt;br /&gt;these ancient juvenile subjunctive pleas;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or owe fealty to a lady who stays&lt;br /&gt;beside a loaf fresh-sliced, a glass half-full,&lt;br /&gt;the one whose smile and hooded glance can pull&lt;br /&gt;a voice from stones and set the ice ablaze:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this selfsame sovereign liege I kneel,&lt;br /&gt;proffer a pommel-end with nape exposed,&lt;br /&gt;and rise to find a path yet unforeclosed,&lt;br /&gt;where shadowed foliage does not conceal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A cup inlaid with finest filigree&lt;br /&gt;still licenses the errant eye to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 2, 2002&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111689000110203369?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111689000110203369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111689000110203369' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111689000110203369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111689000110203369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html' title='SUZERAINTY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111689010758930603</id><published>2001-05-30T16:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T16:15:07.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DOWN BEFORE VONTAY</title><content type='html'>The uneasy traveler, off the map after backtracking too much,&lt;br /&gt;at the last crosses a narrow bridge over one of the Annas&lt;br /&gt;just before sunset, just before losing all patience,&lt;br /&gt;and enters an unexpectedly wide valley,&lt;br /&gt;the road closed in by hedgerows,&lt;br /&gt;the roadside ditches filled with yellow flowers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An antique and horizontal light&lt;br /&gt;catches the milkweed puffs that fill the air,&lt;br /&gt;swirling over and behind the car&lt;br /&gt;to settle in scalloped drifts upon the pavement.&lt;br /&gt;To stop the car is no use; everything will remain the same:&lt;br /&gt;to smell in the air a smoky allegory,&lt;br /&gt;to see the hay spiraled onto the wagons&lt;br /&gt;that wait in a field of analogies&lt;br /&gt;beneath a sky roiling with resemblances,&lt;br /&gt;to hear in the distant pines the crows&lt;br /&gt;croaking out their metaphors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is already resident in memory,&lt;br /&gt;all of it, as is the unpainted frame house&lt;br /&gt;standing at a graveled crossroads in an oak grove,&lt;br /&gt;facing a yard of moss and acorns. It is&lt;br /&gt;a place with no surprises, where one is known.&lt;br /&gt;There, in the pale twilight, a mnemonist&lt;br /&gt;is methodically transcribing old stories&lt;br /&gt;onto blank sheets of paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 30, 2001&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111689010758930603?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111689010758930603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111689010758930603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111689010758930603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111689010758930603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html' title='DOWN BEFORE VONTAY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111693812547018584</id><published>2000-08-18T05:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T05:42:26.430-07:00</updated><title type='text'>QUEENS AND DRONES</title><content type='html'>She wipes her hands on her apron&lt;br /&gt;before opening the screen door&lt;br /&gt;to greet the unexpected visitor,&lt;br /&gt;smiling through the cool dimness of the porch&lt;br /&gt;as if it had been years since their last encounter,&lt;br /&gt;and perhaps it has. The loud tick&lt;br /&gt;of the upright clock and the smell of old wood&lt;br /&gt;follow her down the hall to the kitchen,&lt;br /&gt;pulling up a chair at the table&lt;br /&gt;in the midst of all the other smells,&lt;br /&gt;each in its own place on shelf or countertop.&lt;br /&gt;The room is cloudy from a pan of fruit&lt;br /&gt;steaming on the stove, and she hums&lt;br /&gt;to herself while she completes her tasks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The heat compels a change of venue,&lt;br /&gt;and the old dialogue is adjourned&lt;br /&gt;to resume on the back porch glider,&lt;br /&gt;with the flitter and whir of grasshoppers&lt;br /&gt;in the fierce brightness beyond the screen.&lt;br /&gt;Throughout the long afternoon&lt;br /&gt;the lighter-fluid fragrance of sun-heated pines&lt;br /&gt;drifts down the slope to cover the house&lt;br /&gt;while shadows wheel and lengthen in the yard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation covers a wide landscape,&lt;br /&gt;murmuring down valleys and climbing the steep slopes,&lt;br /&gt;discovering a surprise at every crossroads.&lt;br /&gt;Like her interlocutor, she knows&lt;br /&gt;an obscure word for the apprehension&lt;br /&gt;of the entire landscape in a single instant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At sunset, as the evening gathers,&lt;br /&gt;casual thunderheads obtrude themselves&lt;br /&gt;upwards into the red glow, and the wind&lt;br /&gt;thrums through the empty clothesline.&lt;br /&gt;There, at dusk, color returns to the chicory&lt;br /&gt;and the blackeyed susans along the fencerow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recalling these things helps bring to mind&lt;br /&gt;other matters, such as how to find the route&lt;br /&gt;down the ravine while the sun is still in the sky,&lt;br /&gt;remembering to turn left at the old stump,&lt;br /&gt;and the name of her favorite flower.&lt;br /&gt;If you see her, please ask her how small it has to be&lt;br /&gt;before “loves me, loves me not” has no meaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 18, 2000&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111693812547018584?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111693812547018584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111693812547018584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693812547018584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693812547018584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html' title='QUEENS AND DRONES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111693831998776604</id><published>2000-07-26T05:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T05:38:39.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SHARING THE EAST</title><content type='html'>Marco Polo stood on a hill with doomed Cathay&lt;br /&gt;spread out before him, driven there by the compelling pressure&lt;br /&gt;of the lack of refrigeration in a vulgar Europe,&lt;br /&gt;come to pack his saddlebags with all that turmeric and coriander.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And o, the silk! To lounge about in one’s pajamas&lt;br /&gt;like a nawab, fanned by eunuchs in the cool colonnades,&lt;br /&gt;rousing oneself only to visit the seraglio...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fireworks were enough to require rebellion&lt;br /&gt;against such despotism, to fill the occidental skies&lt;br /&gt;with all the glory of that red glare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After properly aligning the compass,&lt;br /&gt;let me stumble towards the sunrise&lt;br /&gt;over red clay, through cornfields and swampland,&lt;br /&gt;to plunge at last into the surging waves&lt;br /&gt;rising from the grave of fabled Atlantis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 26, 2000&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111693831998776604?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111693831998776604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111693831998776604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693831998776604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693831998776604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html' title='SHARING THE EAST'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111693891277217546</id><published>1999-11-23T05:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T05:52:52.136-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ANNIVERSARY</title><content type='html'>Had either of us ever tried&lt;br /&gt;to make a name in rhyme,&lt;br /&gt;the craft thus learned might well provide&lt;br /&gt;a way to view the time&lt;br /&gt;from when the battery ran down&lt;br /&gt;till when our hopes had gone to ground.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll buy the room another round&lt;br /&gt;for all the years between.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sins embraced so long ago&lt;br /&gt;are old enough to vote,&lt;br /&gt;and all the verse we claim to know&lt;br /&gt;we had to learn by rote.&lt;br /&gt;So pound the drum and count the beat,&lt;br /&gt;by eight or ten still incomplete,&lt;br /&gt;this four-bar lead in metric feet,&lt;br /&gt;a tempo most serene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Centennial days, millenial haze,&lt;br /&gt;perennial discontent:&lt;br /&gt;our winter hearth supports a blaze&lt;br /&gt;of raucous merriment.&lt;br /&gt;Just turn the key and spin the wheels -- &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;the hounds are baying at our heels!&lt;br /&gt;The winding road ahead conceals&lt;br /&gt;a landscape yet unseen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 23, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111693891277217546?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111693891277217546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111693891277217546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693891277217546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693891277217546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html' title='ANNIVERSARY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111693929610911375</id><published>1999-10-22T05:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T05:54:56.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>POINT OF FORK</title><content type='html'>Tell me how to live in October,&lt;br /&gt;how to ride in the pleasant air&lt;br /&gt;with the trees ringing in my head,&lt;br /&gt;ding-dong, red and yellow;&lt;br /&gt;how to hear the &lt;i&gt;whoosh &lt;/i&gt;of the cold wind&lt;br /&gt;with a leaf or two coming in&lt;br /&gt;when the door opens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Structure is everything.&lt;br /&gt;Anyone can build the house,&lt;br /&gt;but nobody builds the bluebird.&lt;br /&gt;In the spring last year’s fledglings return,&lt;br /&gt;making a new nest from scurf and trash&lt;br /&gt;on top of the old one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me how to be like a leaf in autumn,&lt;br /&gt;how to hand over my essential juices&lt;br /&gt;to the twig, and thence to the branches,&lt;br /&gt;the trunk, the roots. Tell me how to know&lt;br /&gt;the exact moment to drop, and then &lt;i&gt;do &lt;/i&gt;it;&lt;br /&gt;how to rise in a pleasant arc&lt;br /&gt;with the wind crimping my edges,&lt;br /&gt;flip-flop, orange and umber,&lt;br /&gt;over the back of a steep ridge&lt;br /&gt;into the cold twilight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 22, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111693929610911375?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111693929610911375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111693929610911375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693929610911375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111693929610911375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html' title='POINT OF FORK'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111695257055480026</id><published>1999-08-29T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T09:36:10.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OLD ROADS</title><content type='html'>The roads will end,&lt;br /&gt;old roads that bend&lt;br /&gt;until we brake&lt;br /&gt;and take a turn&lt;br /&gt;to shake a tale&lt;br /&gt;from all we make&lt;br /&gt;of this travail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My words will fail.&lt;br /&gt;No words avail&lt;br /&gt;me in the face&lt;br /&gt;of grace unearned,&lt;br /&gt;the space to tie&lt;br /&gt;my measured lace,&lt;br /&gt;my reasoned rhyme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your moods will climb,&lt;br /&gt;but moods sublime&lt;br /&gt;begin as fear&lt;br /&gt;and here return.&lt;br /&gt;Revere this trend;&lt;br /&gt;the line is clear:&lt;br /&gt;with this you mend.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 29, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111695257055480026?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111695257055480026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111695257055480026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695257055480026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695257055480026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html' title='OLD ROADS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111695280441470293</id><published>1999-04-09T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T09:40:04.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PINING FOR ATLANTIS</title><content type='html'>Bitter nostalgia for a place that proved&lt;br /&gt;imaginary always brings to mind&lt;br /&gt;the temple frescoes framed by waving kelp&lt;br /&gt;and perfect friezes choked with barnacles&lt;br /&gt;full fathoms five, in the empire of the fish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The powers that be, unable to discern&lt;br /&gt;the elsewhere or the used-to-be, consigned&lt;br /&gt;them to the echoing depths of &lt;i&gt;outremer&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;To gain their cedar lanes and agoræ&lt;br /&gt;the traveller keeps company with eels&lt;br /&gt;and skirts the sunken wrecks and giant clams&lt;br /&gt;that lie athwart the esplanades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;And o!&lt;br /&gt;To raise that land once more into the air,&lt;br /&gt;and bring that mucky bottom to the light!&lt;br /&gt;But how to bear the stench of rotting fish,&lt;br /&gt;and stranded merfolk shrivelled by the sun?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best thing is to leave them where they are,&lt;br /&gt;safe in their submarine antipodes,&lt;br /&gt;to let the fabulous hydropolis&lt;br /&gt;become a favorite exotic spa,&lt;br /&gt;and there occasionally to repair,&lt;br /&gt;to hire a guide with gills, and take the waters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 9, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111695280441470293?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111695280441470293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111695280441470293' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695280441470293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695280441470293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html' title='PINING FOR ATLANTIS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111695289207555849</id><published>1999-03-24T09:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T09:42:02.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ORIENTATION</title><content type='html'>I remember the day so long ago,&lt;br /&gt;one that dawned spanking clear,&lt;br /&gt;when I stood on a sunny ridge&lt;br /&gt;with a map of the whole universe&lt;br /&gt;spread out before me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was brightly-colored,&lt;br /&gt;with an exhaustive index.&lt;br /&gt;But it was too big to fold up&lt;br /&gt;and put in a pocket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at it, and found my way&lt;br /&gt;to the place I wanted to be,&lt;br /&gt;but I left that map behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 24, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111695289207555849?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111695289207555849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111695289207555849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695289207555849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695289207555849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html' title='ORIENTATION'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111695304240810097</id><published>1999-01-22T09:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T09:44:02.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ÉMINENCE GRISE</title><content type='html'>To die in one’s romantic youth: that’s the ticket!&lt;br /&gt;The coffee table is strewn with champagne glasses&lt;br /&gt;and, yes, an empty bottle of barbiturates.&lt;br /&gt;Across the mantel lies a single long-stemmed rose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the graveside the November wind whips the raincoats&lt;br /&gt;and umbrellas of the mourners, including&lt;br /&gt;several women with long hair and smudged mascara.&lt;br /&gt;There is of course a dolorous minister&lt;br /&gt;to sprinkle soil and murmur words of regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there must be a slim volume of posthumously&lt;br /&gt;published verse, perhaps entitled &lt;i&gt;Summer Pudding&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;or &lt;i&gt;A Beggar at the Fountain.&lt;/i&gt; One review says,&lt;br /&gt;“Poignant”; another, “Prescient”...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;...or maybe not.&lt;br /&gt;To attain to a poetic maturity,&lt;br /&gt;to reach a grizzled and graceful understanding:&lt;br /&gt;these are to be desired while yet desire remains.&lt;br /&gt;And then, despite rheumatic joints and aged flesh,&lt;br /&gt;the words will skip and sing and dance the night away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 22, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111695304240810097?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111695304240810097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111695304240810097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695304240810097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695304240810097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html' title='ÉMINENCE GRISE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111695329731548165</id><published>1999-01-21T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T09:48:17.316-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OSSA LAPIDUM</title><content type='html'>Old words, old bones, old stones:&lt;br /&gt;how quickly we forget!&lt;br /&gt;The rising sun elicits groans;&lt;br /&gt;the world is not up yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Describe its arc for fun&lt;br /&gt;without becoming trite.&lt;br /&gt;A sentence with the day begun&lt;br /&gt;is served throughout the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when you rise to speak&lt;br /&gt;your joints refuse the call.&lt;br /&gt;The rich grandiloquence you seek&lt;br /&gt;is lost beyond recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roll up the hill for moss.&lt;br /&gt;For water, roll back down.&lt;br /&gt;A seat upon the throne of loss&lt;br /&gt;requires a broken crown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though conquered by the stones,&lt;br /&gt;your bones defeat the word.&lt;br /&gt;And since your Word can raise the stones,&lt;br /&gt;how can it go unheard?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 21, 1999&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111695329731548165?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111695329731548165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111695329731548165' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695329731548165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111695329731548165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html' title='OSSA LAPIDUM'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698319331954631</id><published>1998-11-10T18:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:06:33.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MONKEY TRAP</title><content type='html'>Whenever I try to describe time&lt;br /&gt;without reference to time, I find myself&lt;br /&gt;with my hand inside a jar, grasping&lt;br /&gt;a large and succulent red fruit.&lt;br /&gt;It is cool and smooth to the touch,&lt;br /&gt;and its smell is tantalizing;&lt;br /&gt;but the mouth of the jar is too small to permit&lt;br /&gt;the removal of both my hand and the fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zeno’s paradox proves only&lt;br /&gt;that a moment is infinitely thin.&lt;br /&gt;Slice it how you will:&lt;br /&gt;with a blade sufficiently keen,&lt;br /&gt;there is always another slice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The earth shakes with the approach&lt;br /&gt;of a lumbering dinothere.&lt;br /&gt;In a moment it will be upon me,&lt;br /&gt;but I must have just one bite;&lt;br /&gt;I can taste it already.&lt;br /&gt;A hard enough pull will surely release it.&lt;br /&gt;Just one more second, and I will have it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 10, 1998&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698319331954631?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698319331954631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698319331954631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698319331954631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698319331954631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html' title='MONKEY TRAP'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698330996841933</id><published>1998-10-08T18:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:08:29.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SIDEWAYS STORIES</title><content type='html'>Collections of moments are, by custom, sequenced temporally.&lt;br /&gt;Before and after; cause and effect:&lt;br /&gt;a pair of instants is deemed adjacent&lt;br /&gt;if one immediately follows the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In such a series you open a door&lt;br /&gt;and descend two steps to a damp brick walk&lt;br /&gt;behind an iron railing. It is October:&lt;br /&gt;pale yellow and orange leaves spatter the brickwork.&lt;br /&gt;As you raise an umbrella against the drizzle,&lt;br /&gt;she emerges behind you. Holding a pair of gloves&lt;br /&gt;in one hand, she turns to you and smiles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But other arrangements are possible.&lt;br /&gt;In a story made out of whole cloth,&lt;br /&gt;the reader normally follows the woof,&lt;br /&gt;even though the warp is equally available.&lt;br /&gt;By this method, neighboring threads&lt;br /&gt;may show her arching an eyebrow and turning away,&lt;br /&gt;or, having donned her gloves, staring grimly at her feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the back of the building opens onto a park;&lt;br /&gt;at others, onto shaded headstones. In certain instances&lt;br /&gt;the door is painted pale gray instead of cream.&lt;br /&gt;At one extreme her eyes are shining,&lt;br /&gt;and she laughs affectionately as she speaks your name.&lt;br /&gt;At the other you stand alone and resolute.&lt;br /&gt;Umbrella already raised, you watch the crows&lt;br /&gt;collecting on the railing down the way&lt;br /&gt;before you stride off in the opposite direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In some versions the sidewalk is empty&lt;br /&gt;and the rain has stopped.&lt;br /&gt;A golden glow appears in the mist above the trees,&lt;br /&gt;alluding to the sun, but no one is there to see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 8, 1998&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698330996841933?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698330996841933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698330996841933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698330996841933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698330996841933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html' title='SIDEWAYS STORIES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698357062624307</id><published>1997-08-16T18:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:12:50.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HALCYON DAYS</title><content type='html'>Of all the days that swoop low over the water&lt;br /&gt;to pluck a morsel from beneath the surface&lt;br /&gt;and continue in a smooth glide, rising gradually&lt;br /&gt;to perch on a branch and lob a cry into the steaming sunlight&lt;br /&gt;to mingle with the gurgle of the river;&lt;br /&gt;of all these, there is only the one day&lt;br /&gt;of sun sweltering long over the bayou,&lt;br /&gt;the one whose morning we rise exuberantly to greet,&lt;br /&gt;the same to whose midnight pillow&lt;br /&gt;we relinquish our gray hairs with relief,&lt;br /&gt;the only day when gnats tie their ravening knots&lt;br /&gt;in the sticky air, swooping low over the pool&lt;br /&gt;where tasty little fishes rise to greet them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 16, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698357062624307?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698357062624307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698357062624307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698357062624307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698357062624307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html' title='HALCYON DAYS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698375403297598</id><published>1997-08-15T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-27T07:51:01.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>VERY WELL THEN, I DISSEMBLE</title><content type='html'>Paradox would be impossible without language.&lt;br /&gt;Your loving hatred and brutal kindness&lt;br /&gt;would not confound, could I not speak of them.&lt;br /&gt;The oxymora of reasoned passions would depart&lt;br /&gt;with the sentences prescribing their banishment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until we stand tongueless in Gaza,&lt;br /&gt;bereft of all our syllables, we needs must know&lt;br /&gt;that into the garden with the Word crept the Lie,&lt;br /&gt;and wrapped his sinuous coils&lt;br /&gt;around that eternal tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 15, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698375403297598?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698375403297598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698375403297598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698375403297598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698375403297598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html' title='VERY WELL THEN, I DISSEMBLE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698392597339067</id><published>1997-07-16T18:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:18:45.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TRANSLUCENCE</title><content type='html'>The motions of light which lie behind&lt;br /&gt;the objects that stand in the light&lt;br /&gt;are more than the jeweled molecules of the air,&lt;br /&gt;more than the fine asterisks of insects&lt;br /&gt;pinned against a dark backdrop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The light harvested last week by leaves&lt;br /&gt;rustles in the hot wind, and is heard&lt;br /&gt;in the pealing blossoms as they emerge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes light moves even when there is no light,&lt;br /&gt;as behind your eyelids when you wake.&lt;br /&gt;Just before you open them, the outlines of the objects&lt;br /&gt;nearby settle into place with an audible &lt;i&gt;snap&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;so that when you see the room around you&lt;br /&gt;there are no surprises, just the luxury of flux&lt;br /&gt;as motes swirl in an intrusive beam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The light that moves forth from me&lt;br /&gt;enters these things and others,&lt;br /&gt;making us what we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 16, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698392597339067?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698392597339067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698392597339067' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698392597339067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698392597339067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html' title='TRANSLUCENCE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698404461022130</id><published>1997-06-22T18:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:23:43.903-07:00</updated><title type='text'>VOLUNTEERS</title><content type='html'>Reading about the catalpa, the phrase&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;escaped from cultivation &lt;/i&gt;brings to mind&lt;br /&gt;the exultation of the fugitive felon&lt;br /&gt;who cuts off the leg irons with a hacksaw.&lt;br /&gt;When crossing a creek, he wades far upstream&lt;br /&gt;to confuse the bloodhounds, pulling clothes&lt;br /&gt;off a line and discarding the prison stripes,&lt;br /&gt;living for years under an assumed name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These new arrivals, the immigrants, the honeysuckle&lt;br /&gt;and the tree-of-heaven, assimilate quickly.&lt;br /&gt;Our yard is an Ellis Island for mimosas.&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for permanent resident status, they back up&lt;br /&gt;in the rain gutters and sidewalk cracks&lt;br /&gt;until they become full citizens, building a better life&lt;br /&gt;for their children here in the new world.&lt;br /&gt;Pawlonias attain great stature from diligent toil,&lt;br /&gt;rising to surpass even the gables of our house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having won free of the stultifying plot,&lt;br /&gt;we transplants must live without the rake and the hoe.&lt;br /&gt;Unwatered and untended,&lt;br /&gt;our sole imperative is to go to seed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 22, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698404461022130?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698404461022130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698404461022130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698404461022130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698404461022130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html' title='VOLUNTEERS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111698438717917646</id><published>1997-05-13T18:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T18:26:27.180-07:00</updated><title type='text'>COSTUME CHANGES</title><content type='html'>It seems that lately I keep thinking about you,&lt;br /&gt;the way you toss your hair back, or smoke that big cigar.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I don’t even know who you are,&lt;br /&gt;sitting on that bench in blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The members of the cast who pass me on parade&lt;br /&gt;are wearing cast-off odds and ends from your wardrobe floor.&lt;br /&gt;My gaze often strays past the mirrored door&lt;br /&gt;to where my best plans are laid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The empress’ new clothes keep the empire in disguise,&lt;br /&gt;while she keeps the hanged man hanging on her every word.&lt;br /&gt;Is he the rough beast, or simply the blurred&lt;br /&gt;beholder in beauty’s eyes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paint and powder, ball and gown, dressing night and day,&lt;br /&gt;until the curtain fall upon this play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 13, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111698438717917646?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111698438717917646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111698438717917646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698438717917646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111698438717917646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html' title='COSTUME CHANGES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704054614515169</id><published>1997-05-05T09:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T10:02:26.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>REPTILE DREAMS</title><content type='html'>It seems that sleep is denied to all&lt;br /&gt;but mammals. The heavy-lidded lizard,&lt;br /&gt;though brisk on a sun-fired rock, slows&lt;br /&gt;in time with the drop in temperature.&lt;br /&gt;When cold enough, he shuts down.&lt;br /&gt;Hibernation immobilizes his brain,&lt;br /&gt;but there are no rapid eye-movements,&lt;br /&gt;no parade of nocturnal images.&lt;br /&gt;Neither dreams of public nakedness&lt;br /&gt;nor feasts of giant raspberries&lt;br /&gt;disturb the torpor of his slumber.&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing that we would call sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where, then, is the reptilian dream?&lt;br /&gt;To find the primeval reverie&lt;br /&gt;we must journey back through the hindbrain&lt;br /&gt;down the dark track of the spinal cord&lt;br /&gt;to the steaming morning of our being,&lt;br /&gt;the coal-bearing swamp of yesteræon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There the creeping belly plates&lt;br /&gt;ring like bronze on the gilded rocks.&lt;br /&gt;Each narrow skull is a cauldron of impulses,&lt;br /&gt;and jeweled scales move across the backdrop&lt;br /&gt;like the orchestrated ripple of a flock of starlings.&lt;br /&gt;Each point in the firmament spins&lt;br /&gt;a shining thread to every grain of the earth,&lt;br /&gt;and each gorgeous moment bears its own grand music&lt;br /&gt;towards its imminent destruction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What, then, did we trade&lt;br /&gt;to get our nightly masquerade?&lt;br /&gt;Our ancient notochord grew frontally,&lt;br /&gt;bulbed, divided, and then divided once again,&lt;br /&gt;giving rise to all our ordered pairs,&lt;br /&gt;this dance of self and other, subject and object,&lt;br /&gt;birth and death, heaven and earth, the seer and the seen.&lt;br /&gt;You and I must view from the proscenium&lt;br /&gt;that perfect serpent coiled upon the stage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 5, 1997&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704054614515169?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704054614515169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704054614515169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704054614515169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704054614515169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html' title='REPTILE DREAMS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704095572651374</id><published>1996-12-19T10:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T10:09:15.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>METRICIDE</title><content type='html'>I kill the ordered flow of time&lt;br /&gt;in metered dose, with words that rhyme.&lt;br /&gt;The metronome of hour and date&lt;br /&gt;deteriorates from year to year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To murder marked and bounded space,&lt;br /&gt;the lamp that jumps from place to place&lt;br /&gt;must meet the same entropic fate,&lt;br /&gt;must gutter dim and disappear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mathematician of my soul,&lt;br /&gt;who ruled the slab and parsed the whole,&lt;br /&gt;observes the calm and measured gait&lt;br /&gt;of hooded figures drawing near.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erect the gibbet! Tie the noose!&lt;br /&gt;Make sure the knot has thirteen loops.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 19, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704095572651374?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704095572651374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704095572651374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704095572651374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704095572651374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html' title='METRICIDE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704188150428710</id><published>1996-12-13T10:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T10:25:12.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MR. MISTLETOE</title><content type='html'>A man up a tree with a pole touches&lt;br /&gt;an iron hook at the point on the trunk&lt;br /&gt;where the sky god struck the tree with lightning,&lt;br /&gt;and the green bush of Balder’s soul descends&lt;br /&gt;slowly to the oak leaves strewn below.&lt;br /&gt;Ho! The trickster in the tree, the fellow&lt;br /&gt;with the green hat and the twinkle: who is he?&lt;br /&gt;The wind presses him black against the chill blaze&lt;br /&gt;of a solstice dawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The tiny green spear,&lt;br /&gt;Balder’s doom, was a fragment of himself.&lt;br /&gt;These qualities he shares with Superman:&lt;br /&gt;both mighty denizens of the air,&lt;br /&gt;vulnerable only to a piece of home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look! Up in the tree, a nimble form&lt;br /&gt;leaping tall limbs with a single bound!&lt;br /&gt;An auroral silhouette at sun-pause!&lt;br /&gt;And now the pole extends, the hook connects,&lt;br /&gt;and Balder can go home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The oak still stands.&lt;br /&gt;The wind howls in the branches overhead,&lt;br /&gt;almost obscuring Loki’s raucous laugh.&lt;br /&gt;Breathe easy: now the new year can begin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 13, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704188150428710?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704188150428710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704188150428710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704188150428710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704188150428710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html' title='MR. MISTLETOE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704202272953023</id><published>1996-10-08T10:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T10:27:02.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CONTEXT</title><content type='html'>(&lt;i&gt;Portrait of a Lady in Blue &lt;/i&gt;by Mather Brown)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gilt-edged, contained by the brilliant borders&lt;br /&gt;Of convention, she stares forthrightly out.&lt;br /&gt;A starched five-layer cake of lace stiffens&lt;br /&gt;Her neck. Her bosom bound and brassèd, she&lt;br /&gt;Regards us now, erect within her frame,&lt;br /&gt;Agog at our modernity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The chair&lt;br /&gt;On which she sits must lie outside the frame.&lt;br /&gt;Its legs are scratched, the worn brocade obscure.&lt;br /&gt;And why the tassels? Who could see them there,&lt;br /&gt;Dragging the dusty carpet? Still, we know&lt;br /&gt;A full-length view would call the chair to life.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps the patron balked at the expense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The artist’s hand now hastens to its task:&lt;br /&gt;The light behind him through the window fades&lt;br /&gt;With each stroke of the brush, or so its seems.&lt;br /&gt;He charms her motionless with just a glance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also outside the frame: the sitting ends&lt;br /&gt;At early dusk; the footman shows her out.&lt;br /&gt;We see her lift her skirts to clear the mud.&lt;br /&gt;Her cheek against the carriage window-glass,&lt;br /&gt;She watches windy rain occlude the trees. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;That awful man! He bade me sit so still:&lt;br /&gt;“Now, Madame, if you please, just keep the chin&lt;br /&gt;In the position I have shown. Just so.” &lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Standing before her by the parlor fire,&lt;br /&gt;And backlit by the window and the rain,&lt;br /&gt;Her husband rests his hand upon her arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;My darling, you have been so very kind&lt;br /&gt;To undertake this for my sake, that I&lt;br /&gt;Might keep you here when you are far away&lt;br /&gt;From me. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;And now that time and circumstance&lt;br /&gt;Have sundered her from us, have pressed her flat,&lt;br /&gt;Rectangular and perched upon a wall,&lt;br /&gt;We are delivered here to stand, and must&lt;br /&gt;Declare with all our fullness we can see&lt;br /&gt;within her frame the world, without our eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 8, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704202272953023?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704202272953023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704202272953023' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704202272953023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704202272953023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html' title='CONTEXT'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704431225914887</id><published>1996-07-19T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T11:05:12.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SECOND CHILDHOOD</title><content type='html'>The first is not occluded, with the cat&lt;br /&gt;that leapt the windowsill at night, to lie&lt;br /&gt;on the bed with her in the summer heat.&lt;br /&gt;And then in 1933 they moved&lt;br /&gt;to the new house on Alexandria Pike:&lt;br /&gt;a wide lawn, the boxwoods growing huge&lt;br /&gt;all through her youth. She skipped a grade in school,&lt;br /&gt;passed out of childhood into the high school&lt;br /&gt;and the Depression and the waiting war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in the second the joy of small things:&lt;br /&gt;delight in sunshine or the taste of food,&lt;br /&gt;a grandchild’s voice, a fully-ripened peach.&lt;br /&gt;Each day is fresh, a whirl of new events,&lt;br /&gt;intimate strangers, unfamiliar friends.&lt;br /&gt;Surprised by restraints when she tries to stand,&lt;br /&gt;she accepts the hands that have to help her walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why only two? Why not three or more?&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps for her another childhood waits...&lt;br /&gt;The early sunlight finds a field in dew&lt;br /&gt;across a hedge of honeysuckle, and&lt;br /&gt;will draw bright beads on the morning glories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had to make another child for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;July 19, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704431225914887?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704431225914887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704431225914887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704431225914887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704431225914887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html' title='SECOND CHILDHOOD'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704439933451749</id><published>1996-06-26T11:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T11:06:39.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ARCHETYPES</title><content type='html'>The images of fear are the sum and substance&lt;br /&gt;of that which failed to kill our forefathers:&lt;br /&gt;raging behemoths, fanged elegances,&lt;br /&gt;the tiny whip-tailed scorpion, the great serpent.&lt;br /&gt;Systematically section the medulla oblongata&lt;br /&gt;to obtain these embedded bilateral symmetries,&lt;br /&gt;the stylized grotesques which must be kept at bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My father’s rage failed to kill me;&lt;br /&gt;hence it is unassuageable.&lt;br /&gt;Secure the perimeter, protect the loved ones,&lt;br /&gt;maintain the structure, and never sleep:&lt;br /&gt;this keeps the dread leviathan at bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 26, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704439933451749?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704439933451749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704439933451749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704439933451749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704439933451749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html' title='ARCHETYPES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704829443736284</id><published>1996-06-15T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T12:11:34.450-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CICADAS</title><content type='html'>How would it be to spend seventeen years&lt;br /&gt;in the blind silence of the dark?&lt;br /&gt;How would one feel attached to a root,&lt;br /&gt;drinking the sweet oak sap,&lt;br /&gt;knowing only the warm drone of ecstasy,&lt;br /&gt;the contentment of being full&lt;br /&gt;and not having to change?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until:&lt;br /&gt;The sudden urge to move, to ascend;&lt;br /&gt;parting the soil,  drilling a perfectly round hole&lt;br /&gt;in the clay and moss, up into daylight,&lt;br /&gt;using eyes for the first time, experiencing weather&lt;br /&gt;and hearing the polyphony of the world’s voice;&lt;br /&gt;then continuing the ascent up a tree trunk,&lt;br /&gt;a downspout, the leg of someone&lt;br /&gt;who stands still long enough;&lt;br /&gt;then buzzing in the branches, finding a mate, laying eggs,&lt;br /&gt;and all in a fortnight in June.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would mine be?&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I would attach myself&lt;br /&gt;to the long corridor of the James River,&lt;br /&gt;in the blind silence of the water.&lt;br /&gt;One day I would ascend, climbing  a sand bar,&lt;br /&gt;the bank of clay and moss,&lt;br /&gt;the root of a tree that stands still long enough,&lt;br /&gt;to the low grounds, there to spend&lt;br /&gt;a warm June fortnight in the sound of cicadas&lt;br /&gt;and the smell of the honeysuckle.&lt;br /&gt;It would make the seventeen years worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 15, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704829443736284?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704829443736284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704829443736284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704829443736284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704829443736284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html' title='CICADAS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704846221433430</id><published>1996-05-02T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T12:14:22.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MASON DIXON</title><content type='html'>The central obsession of our federal estate&lt;br /&gt;is the bloody conflict that divided it.&lt;br /&gt;Thirteen decades later its veterans’ reunions&lt;br /&gt;and widows’ pensions are no more,&lt;br /&gt;but the dead still rest uneasy&lt;br /&gt;in their ordered rows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Far enough north,&lt;br /&gt;the grizzled Yankee in his rocky field&lt;br /&gt;knows that righteousness has triumphed.&lt;br /&gt;Far enough south,&lt;br /&gt;every swamp-dwelling moss-draped cracker&lt;br /&gt;knows his cause was just, and,&lt;br /&gt;come the jubilee, will rise again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But here in the middle, in the border states,&lt;br /&gt;things are not so clear.&lt;br /&gt;In Virginia we know that our cause was &lt;i&gt;not &lt;/i&gt;just,&lt;br /&gt;though our soldiers were brave&lt;br /&gt;and our homes worth defending.&lt;br /&gt;Across the river a Marylander,&lt;br /&gt;though bound to a troubled Union,&lt;br /&gt;whistles Dixie and glances over his shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can we cut this canker from our collective soul?&lt;br /&gt;How can one forget? Millennia hence,&lt;br /&gt;when English is just the language of the scholiasts&lt;br /&gt;or the key to ancient software, Gettysburg&lt;br /&gt;will mean no more than Thermopylæ does to us,&lt;br /&gt;and Jackson’s tactics, like Hannibal’s,&lt;br /&gt;will be studied by commanders&lt;br /&gt;training for the galactic wars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Appomattox will no longer appear on any map,&lt;br /&gt;with Bull Run just a vague rumor,&lt;br /&gt;a place somewhere off to the east&lt;br /&gt;of the Blue Ridge Islands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 2, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704846221433430?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704846221433430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704846221433430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704846221433430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704846221433430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html' title='MASON DIXON'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704866148637133</id><published>1996-04-27T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T12:19:23.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SAYLER’S CREEK</title><content type='html'>There is too much history here in Virginia;&lt;br /&gt;we are drowning in its muddy flood.&lt;br /&gt;Every April sweeps its pontoons from their moorings&lt;br /&gt;on the North Fork of the Shenandoah&lt;br /&gt;with Federal soldiers watching helplessly from the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Every pitcher toeing the mound&lt;br /&gt;scuffs up a lode of Minié balls.&lt;br /&gt;A metal detector swept over any ravine&lt;br /&gt;uncovers the belt buckles and canteens&lt;br /&gt;urgently shed by fleeing infantry.&lt;br /&gt;A faded daguerreotype of General Lee&lt;br /&gt;stares down from every wall,&lt;br /&gt;a stern reminder of all that vanished glory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The top drawer of every dusty dresser&lt;br /&gt;in every second-hand shop&lt;br /&gt;opens to reveal a brittle bundle of worthless banknotes.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone’s great-great-uncle Theophrastus&lt;br /&gt;led the charge at the Crater.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And everywhere Stonewall Jackson appears,&lt;br /&gt;a red-bearded grey blur leading his brigade&lt;br /&gt;clattering over wooden bridges, through deep hollows,&lt;br /&gt;crushing the newly-opened green parasols of mayapples,&lt;br /&gt;leaving with their boots little chevron-shaped tarns&lt;br /&gt;of muddy ditchwater, passing and re-passing every location,&lt;br /&gt;named and unnamed, in the entire state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the cemeteries: one stands on each ridge,&lt;br /&gt;with maybe a pigeon-stained gaunt granite rifleman&lt;br /&gt;guarding it from a nearby pedestal, every grave&lt;br /&gt;lined with faded dates on a stone and a welter of violets.&lt;br /&gt;We hurry past these, hoping through them&lt;br /&gt;to leave this wilderness and reach that distant cold harbor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But such are the burdens we must bear.&lt;br /&gt;Neither ghosts nor the living: they are the &lt;i&gt;past&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;the encrusted mollusks of occurrences&lt;br /&gt;that barnacle the great pilings&lt;br /&gt;of our sovereign commonwealth.&lt;br /&gt;We shall not be quit of them&lt;br /&gt;short of emigration to the outer planets&lt;br /&gt;or a deep draught of nepenthe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The April rains of history have left the creek swollen;&lt;br /&gt;the water rises around my knees.&lt;br /&gt;Over the hill I hear the muffled rumble&lt;br /&gt;of distant artillery, and I look up, expecting&lt;br /&gt;to see ragged and bandaged figures at the crest.&lt;br /&gt;But it is only the afternoon thunderstorm&lt;br /&gt;descending from the mountains&lt;br /&gt;while, over my head, the blue and the grey&lt;br /&gt;still grapple their eternal combat&lt;br /&gt;across the turbulent vastness of the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 27, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704866148637133?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704866148637133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704866148637133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704866148637133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704866148637133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html' title='SAYLER’S CREEK'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111704981482226264</id><published>1996-02-29T12:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T12:36:54.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ENTROPY</title><content type='html'>The first law of psychodynamics states:&lt;br /&gt;emotion cannot be created or&lt;br /&gt;destroyed, although conversion can take place.&lt;br /&gt;The arrogant elation of the clouds&lt;br /&gt;when lightning strikes the ridge behind the house&lt;br /&gt;is thus transformed to terror in the heart,&lt;br /&gt;and painful deep-abiding discontent&lt;br /&gt;becomes the melancholy melting snow.&lt;br /&gt;In this we find equations we can solve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we are reprieved: the second law makes&lt;br /&gt;the arrow of love irreversible.&lt;br /&gt;Through chaos and fragmentation, feelings&lt;br /&gt;become dispersed, resulting in hate death.&lt;br /&gt;The fiery zeal of students in cafés&lt;br /&gt;decays to middle-aged indifference,&lt;br /&gt;and passions of a summer’s night are now&lt;br /&gt;the comfort of an armchair by the stove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so must everything deteriorate.&lt;br /&gt;The end of youth brings hope for us: with luck&lt;br /&gt;the dreadful apprehension of the self&lt;br /&gt;dissolves in time to ink and rags, the mere&lt;br /&gt;complacency of words upon a page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 29, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111704981482226264?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111704981482226264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111704981482226264' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704981482226264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111704981482226264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html' title='ENTROPY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705326612401018</id><published>1996-02-19T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T13:34:26.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CHANGELING</title><content type='html'>The wizened husk upon the bed,&lt;br /&gt;tubes protruding from nostril and arm,&lt;br /&gt;and others from under the sheets,&lt;br /&gt;is not my real mother.&lt;br /&gt;It is a faded caricature of my mother&lt;br /&gt;by an amateurish hand.&lt;br /&gt;The green squiggles on the monitor above the bed&lt;br /&gt;may chart the coastline of Kamchatka&lt;br /&gt;or spell &lt;i&gt;Imsh’allah&lt;/i&gt; in the obsolete orthography of Araby,&lt;br /&gt;but they have nothing to do with &lt;i&gt;her&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gypsies or Venusians crept into her room&lt;br /&gt;late at night and spirited away my real mother,&lt;br /&gt;leaving this simulacrum in her place.&lt;br /&gt;But I am not so easily fooled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother cannot be fed through a tube;&lt;br /&gt;after all, she did the same for &lt;i&gt;me&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;The one who soothes a scraped knee&lt;br /&gt;would never fall down herself.&lt;br /&gt;When I wet the bed, she was patient&lt;br /&gt;and understanding.  How could it happen to her?&lt;br /&gt;Her memory would never fail her.&lt;br /&gt;She would never fail me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She would never fail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 19, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705326612401018?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705326612401018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705326612401018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705326612401018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705326612401018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html' title='CHANGELING'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705336501079819</id><published>1996-02-10T13:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T13:36:05.010-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TO CEARA, FOR FEBRUARY</title><content type='html'>We roll the stone of poetry, and thus&lt;br /&gt;transmute the base metal of suffering&lt;br /&gt;into a golden scrim of rare device,&lt;br /&gt;a fitting gift to be returned to God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By it we know that all our trivial pain&lt;br /&gt;is just a carlacue in a design&lt;br /&gt;beyond ourselves, already perfect (with&lt;br /&gt;the possible exception of ourselves).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through it we join the perfection, and see&lt;br /&gt;the glory spread before us, and we hear&lt;br /&gt;profound celestial music, and we feel&lt;br /&gt;the wind of the divine, and have our peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 10, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705336501079819?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705336501079819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705336501079819' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705336501079819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705336501079819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html' title='TO CEARA, FOR FEBRUARY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705345392025908</id><published>1996-02-06T13:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T13:37:33.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>INNOVATION</title><content type='html'>All newness comes into the world through this,&lt;br /&gt;the familiar portal, the same through which&lt;br /&gt;you came into the world when you were new.&lt;br /&gt;Snow falls through it on a dark winter’s night.&lt;br /&gt;Each crystal, distinct and intricate,&lt;br /&gt;generates while passing through the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The words are here, each spoken long before.&lt;br /&gt;But, in their collective, meaning starts from scratch.&lt;br /&gt;What makes it novel? And the problem: how&lt;br /&gt;to get one’s hand upon that burnished knob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 6, 1996&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705345392025908?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705345392025908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705345392025908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705345392025908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705345392025908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html' title='INNOVATION'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705698881772128</id><published>1995-10-24T14:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T14:36:28.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE MIDDLE DISTANCE</title><content type='html'>Neither here nor there: it lies between the rock&lt;br /&gt;of the ground and the hard place of the sky.&lt;br /&gt;Unrolling from your feet, the road loops twice&lt;br /&gt;and then disappears behind it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beware the ides of vision.&lt;br /&gt;The knife dividing the viewer from the scene&lt;br /&gt;is the same that cuts the beauty from the beholder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cheerful spiritualist lifts her arms and raises the table.&lt;br /&gt;You hear the knocks and try to read the leaves,&lt;br /&gt;but the planchette always comes to rest on &lt;i&gt;Maybe&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;and nothing changes; nothing can change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that figure halfway down, approaching us:&lt;br /&gt;Who is he? Too far away to tell.&lt;br /&gt;The partial overcast sends pieces of sunlight&lt;br /&gt;strobing across the hedgerows behind him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stands closer now, half in shadow,&lt;br /&gt;a middle-aged man leaning on a stick.&lt;br /&gt;Almost known to you: the half-lit scene,&lt;br /&gt;the ambiguous viewer, the ambivalent light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 24, 1995&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705698881772128?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705698881772128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705698881772128' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705698881772128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705698881772128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html' title='THE MIDDLE DISTANCE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705711150840342</id><published>1994-06-16T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T14:38:31.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SAINTS OF SCIENCE</title><content type='html'>What do they have that makes us worship them,&lt;br /&gt;All those august men, calm in hose and robe:&lt;br /&gt;Copernicus, his hand athwart the globe,&lt;br /&gt;Or Newton, piling theorem on theorem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mute Galileo stands, and yet he moves!&lt;br /&gt;What force has he that we mere mortals lack?&lt;br /&gt;Or Gutenberg: his hand cranks out the stack&lt;br /&gt;By which we swear how much our lot improves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marconi’s voice is heard no more, and Baird&lt;br /&gt;Does not appear upon our flickering screen.&lt;br /&gt;And yet through them our common life is shared,&lt;br /&gt;The mirror of ourselves so clearly seen.&lt;br /&gt;And all the praise of A. G. Bell we sing&lt;br /&gt;Is carried on the wires he helped to string.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 16, 1994&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705711150840342?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705711150840342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705711150840342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705711150840342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705711150840342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html' title='SAINTS OF SCIENCE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705719449981661</id><published>1993-10-07T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T14:39:54.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PROPHECY</title><content type='html'>The plowman knows where the ox will turn, and when,&lt;br /&gt;and gives it plenty of room and encouragement,&lt;br /&gt;and never uses the stick.&lt;br /&gt;Coming back along the new furrow he passes&lt;br /&gt;the faint images of his previous selves&lt;br /&gt;in the adjacent rows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says the seed will sprout, and it does;&lt;br /&gt;he says the rain will come, and it does,&lt;br /&gt;but never quite as much as he had hoped;&lt;br /&gt;he says the sun will shine, and it does,&lt;br /&gt;ripening the grain.&lt;br /&gt;He says that in its good time the earth&lt;br /&gt;will yield its harvest, and it does,&lt;br /&gt;threefold or fourfold, but never quite as much&lt;br /&gt;as he might want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says that next spring he will plant barley,&lt;br /&gt;and he does. Much later, when his joints stiffen,&lt;br /&gt;the field lies fallow.&lt;br /&gt;In its good time death takes him:&lt;br /&gt;while playing quoits with his cronies,&lt;br /&gt;he keels over backwards in his chair.&lt;br /&gt;After the funeral, when the family gathers&lt;br /&gt;to comfort her, his widow tells them,&lt;br /&gt;“I always said he would go like that.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 7, 1993&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705719449981661?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705719449981661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705719449981661' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705719449981661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705719449981661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html' title='PROPHECY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111705995289683300</id><published>1993-05-03T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:25:52.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE DEFINITION OF SPACE</title><content type='html'>Air attains to it always,&lt;br /&gt;but carries the eye with it&lt;br /&gt;only along the curl of smoke, or in fog,&lt;br /&gt;or through the densely reticulated accruals of cloud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snow achieves it easily,&lt;br /&gt;pinning down each point flake by flake&lt;br /&gt;in a city-wide grid of white,&lt;br /&gt;before crying a triumphant “Bingo!”&lt;br /&gt;and collecting a prize&lt;br /&gt;from hundreds of stranded motorists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its function in us is well-described,&lt;br /&gt;displaying both continuity and discretion.&lt;br /&gt;We are born with it, but as potential only,&lt;br /&gt;so that it must be imprinted in us&lt;br /&gt;in a certain way, at a certain time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yours, perhaps, at the age of three,&lt;br /&gt;was a Southern landscape, a field of soybeans&lt;br /&gt;glimpsed in midsummer, at midday.&lt;br /&gt;Your mother was there. She held your hand,&lt;br /&gt;and a drop of sweat glistened on her forehead;&lt;br /&gt;but you remember nothing. Because of it&lt;br /&gt;your heaven is forever contoured in blinding azure,&lt;br /&gt;with hosannas sung in curled green leaves of praise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mine might be five or six colors&lt;br /&gt;laid diagonally across a newly-mown field,&lt;br /&gt;whose precisely spiralled rolls of hay&lt;br /&gt;draw the eye inexorably&lt;br /&gt;to the distant shimmering trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 3, 1993&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111705995289683300?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111705995289683300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111705995289683300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705995289683300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111705995289683300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html' title='THE DEFINITION OF SPACE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706006804228633</id><published>1990-12-19T15:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:40:36.850-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PARLIAMENTARY PROCEDURE</title><content type='html'>The distribution of blossoms on an ironweed plant,&lt;br /&gt;though confusing, is not random.&lt;br /&gt;They form a committee with a rotating chair.&lt;br /&gt;On this sunny morning, with each gust of wind,&lt;br /&gt;their heads dip and swivel in unison.&lt;br /&gt;The vote is unanimous and the motion passes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The eyes have it in extremes of purple.&lt;br /&gt;Later, in the calm of the afternoon,&lt;br /&gt;further activity is tabled and the meeting adjourns.&lt;br /&gt;But the organization continues,&lt;br /&gt;following all procedures, written and unwritten,&lt;br /&gt;and well-versed in the rules of order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 17, 1990&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706006804228633?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706006804228633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706006804228633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706006804228633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706006804228633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html' title='PARLIAMENTARY PROCEDURE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706089922377357</id><published>1990-12-11T15:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:41:39.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BRUTE REALITY</title><content type='html'>Travelling southeast in the early morning,&lt;br /&gt;in the bloom of spring and at the height of youth;&lt;br /&gt;or moving westward in old age,&lt;br /&gt;just before sunset at the end of November:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These two, the &lt;i&gt;jubilate &lt;/i&gt;and the sorrow,&lt;br /&gt;make for odd bedfellows.&lt;br /&gt;Both are heading straight into the sun.&lt;br /&gt;At their marriage they embrace, join hands, bow, and exit left,&lt;br /&gt;leaving a single ancient cedar, standing alone,&lt;br /&gt;presiding over a landscape of soft-hued vegetation,&lt;br /&gt;lined with birdsong, in ambivalent light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 5, 1990&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706089922377357?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706089922377357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706089922377357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706089922377357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706089922377357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html' title='BRUTE REALITY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706096452108881</id><published>1990-12-03T15:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:42:44.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AN ACCORD OF REPETITIONS</title><content type='html'>The human soul is a hall of mirrors&lt;br /&gt;of indefinite extent, so that&lt;br /&gt;the speed of light becomes significant.&lt;br /&gt;This afternoon, when you set the table,&lt;br /&gt;the rebounding image of your mother came&lt;br /&gt;and laid the napkins by the plates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sound is carried, too: your father’s voice&lt;br /&gt;rounded the last corner, bounced off the wall,&lt;br /&gt;and left through your open mouth&lt;br /&gt;when you said, “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The images fade, but never disappear.&lt;br /&gt;A pale translucent copy of your great-grandmother&lt;br /&gt;paces back and forth in sequential inversion.&lt;br /&gt;And what of the feral ancestor from forest or savanna&lt;br /&gt;who awakens in the middle of the night,&lt;br /&gt;hair bristling, sheened with sweat, to the terror of being?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, crossing the field,&lt;br /&gt;when I held the hand of my small son and said,&lt;br /&gt;“Look at the deer,” I found myself beckoning&lt;br /&gt;to two or three full-grown great-grandchildren&lt;br /&gt;ninety years on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 4, 1989&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706096452108881?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706096452108881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706096452108881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706096452108881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706096452108881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html' title='AN ACCORD OF REPETITIONS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706159943498382</id><published>1990-11-25T15:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:53:19.436-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RISING SHADOW</title><content type='html'>Toward the end of May, while green is still fresh,&lt;br /&gt;when the honeysuckle and iris are blooming,&lt;br /&gt;before the drought and the great heat,&lt;br /&gt;when you can hear grasshoppers in the day&lt;br /&gt;but not the cicadas at night --&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You drive down a hill through a tunnel of trees&lt;br /&gt;and see between shadowed trunks&lt;br /&gt;an infinity of pasture, with somehow beyond it&lt;br /&gt;the maples rising to obscure the river.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then you know&lt;br /&gt;if someone were to offer you a trade,&lt;br /&gt;to take all your things and in return&lt;br /&gt;you would &lt;i&gt;be &lt;/i&gt;that green,&lt;br /&gt;you would take it in a instant.&lt;br /&gt;And then you would swell in a moist bank&lt;br /&gt;under shaded grass, and you would be&lt;br /&gt;golden-tipped maples with a younger sassafras&lt;br /&gt;rising between them, and you would be&lt;br /&gt;golden-scented honeysuckle with bees&lt;br /&gt;buzzing through it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there would be no more roads and rivers&lt;br /&gt;disappearing around the bend through atmospheric blue,&lt;br /&gt;since you would already be there, too,&lt;br /&gt;to measure it all and own it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if you wanted to feel the motion towards it,&lt;br /&gt;or if you wanted to see it from an intelligible point of view,&lt;br /&gt;you would need an adjunct, a servant.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps you would make one, a tall young woman, say,&lt;br /&gt;or a short older man with nothing better to do.&lt;br /&gt;He would feel compelled to tell you about it,&lt;br /&gt;sitting in a dim house at the end of the day,&lt;br /&gt;writing under the pale yellow light to the sound&lt;br /&gt;of the whippoorwills, in the cool spring evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 20, 1988&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706159943498382?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706159943498382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706159943498382' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706159943498382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706159943498382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html' title='RISING SHADOW'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706239082207717</id><published>1990-11-17T15:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:06:30.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OTHERLIGHT</title><content type='html'>Does not rise beyond the trees, surprising us,&lt;br /&gt;(who were accustomed to the thin moonlight,&lt;br /&gt;or starlight, or the glare from city lights)&lt;br /&gt;identifying itself as Dawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It does not ripple over the hills&lt;br /&gt;between the clouds of an approaching storm.&lt;br /&gt;It is not fluorescent over a coffee counter,&lt;br /&gt;nor does it  flare from the tip of a match.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Photographs taken in it are identical&lt;br /&gt;with those of the same scene in sunlight,&lt;br /&gt;or under an incandescent bulb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is that which, dripping with April or bare and sere,&lt;br /&gt;informs the trees with the whole of their being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 12, 1988&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706239082207717?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706239082207717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706239082207717' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706239082207717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706239082207717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html' title='OTHERLIGHT'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706244971554800</id><published>1990-11-09T16:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:07:29.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE WOMAN I SAW</title><content type='html'>A painting is an artful lie, a hoax&lt;br /&gt;designed to force the viewer to mistake&lt;br /&gt;a few brush-strokes of pigment on a board&lt;br /&gt;for the pure blue-white edge of reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The magician with his bag of tricks makes&lt;br /&gt;his way across the stage, and a white dove&lt;br /&gt;rises into the flies, while the audience&lt;br /&gt;sits beyond in a hushed silence, or bored.&lt;br /&gt;When sunlight slants across a well-worn floor&lt;br /&gt;the painter’s desire to mislead awakes,&lt;br /&gt;and he reaches behind for a clean brush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We painters know the rote of numbered line,&lt;br /&gt;the dry tamed texture of light, the feat&lt;br /&gt;of fetching colors wild in a field of white.&lt;br /&gt;And if, when we stand well back from the work,&lt;br /&gt;a spot in the center of the picture glows,&lt;br /&gt;an angel comes to assess the &lt;i&gt;trompe l’oeil&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;And a woman rises from a box, and bows,&lt;br /&gt;displaying her sequined torso, intact.&lt;br /&gt;And the spotlight slanting across her back&lt;br /&gt;glows translucent within her pale-downed nape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 2, 1987&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706244971554800?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706244971554800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706244971554800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706244971554800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706244971554800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html' title='THE WOMAN I SAW'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706252149589557</id><published>1990-11-01T16:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:08:41.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TREE OF HEAVEN</title><content type='html'>The seed fell in a neglected corner&lt;br /&gt;of the large field, a place where it was safe.&lt;br /&gt;Mostly rock, though, and when the wind&lt;br /&gt;came in over the pines the newly reaching sprout&lt;br /&gt;was bent nearly to the ground.&lt;br /&gt;Twisted sideways, roots tapping bare stone,&lt;br /&gt;the tree reached hands skyward while all around&lt;br /&gt;its siblings went under in the fall plowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are five trees in Paradise, and one is moving,&lt;br /&gt;throwing its fingers in branched parallels&lt;br /&gt;against the still sky. Overhead a mockingbird&lt;br /&gt;lays out a song of intensely ordered steps&lt;br /&gt;into the heat of dusk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the height of summer profuse blooms&lt;br /&gt;layer the shimmering air.&lt;br /&gt;In the great heat a cool shadow&lt;br /&gt;flows over the plowed ground.&lt;br /&gt;In the great light the grass below&lt;br /&gt;bristles with the air of heaven. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 21, 1987&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706252149589557?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706252149589557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706252149589557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706252149589557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706252149589557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html' title='TREE OF HEAVEN'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706259838216410</id><published>1990-10-24T16:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:09:58.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE IDIOM OF THE TABLE</title><content type='html'>In the idiom of the table,&lt;br /&gt;the deep structure of the plates&lt;br /&gt;supports the substantives as food.&lt;br /&gt;Sentences are parsed with knife and fork,&lt;br /&gt;the phonemes chewed and reissued&lt;br /&gt;as the metaphor of the conversation&lt;br /&gt;rises in a rich aroma to the glaze of the chandelier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a Southern inflection to the beans and fatback;&lt;br /&gt;potatoes drip with rich Saxon butter;&lt;br /&gt;one detects Gallic roots in the onion soup.&lt;br /&gt;Dessert arrives as an independent clause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The idiot at table, with his polysyllabic bib of drool,&lt;br /&gt;feasts himself rudely on the same asyntactic stew.&lt;br /&gt;But, o, the richness of the cloth!&lt;br /&gt;and o, the clinking of the wine glasses&lt;br /&gt;like tiny silver bells!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 16, 1987&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706259838216410?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706259838216410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706259838216410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706259838216410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706259838216410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html' title='THE IDIOM OF THE TABLE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706270958246313</id><published>1990-10-16T16:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:11:49.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CHELONIA</title><content type='html'>My mind is full of turtles:&lt;br /&gt;the green half-dollar dimestore sliders;&lt;br /&gt;huge mud-drenched snappers in Allegheny swamps;&lt;br /&gt;the etched and sculpted dry desert tortugas&lt;br /&gt;in their islands of sand; and not least&lt;br /&gt;the flat skipping-stone pond turtles rife in the hills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the stuff of dreams: tiny simulacra;&lt;br /&gt;terrapins made of serpentine with eyes of porphyry;&lt;br /&gt;others with removable shells,&lt;br /&gt;eating their own body parts in arcane ritual;&lt;br /&gt;dark vicious giants lurking in silent streams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the mundanities: the hinged plastron,&lt;br /&gt;domed carapace, the ubiquitous scales;&lt;br /&gt;the warm eggs ripening in sunny sand;&lt;br /&gt;scrambling through undergrowth for crushed insects;&lt;br /&gt;and, beckoning at the end, a dark smooth paved defeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But...&lt;br /&gt;On a cut glass plain, at the edge of distance,&lt;br /&gt;a jewelled turtle rises in a lake of fire.&lt;br /&gt;Motionless: when his head turns, the whole of space swivels.&lt;br /&gt;Immobile: the philosopher’s stone, the missing mass.&lt;br /&gt;His body broken, his blood debt drains&lt;br /&gt;into the veins engraving the face of the risen sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His flat oval ears cannot hear,&lt;br /&gt;but the unheard music&lt;br /&gt;breaks and reforms the eternal cadences of Paradise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 7, 1986&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706270958246313?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706270958246313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706270958246313' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706270958246313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706270958246313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html' title='CHELONIA'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706290125874158</id><published>1990-10-08T16:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:15:01.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MECCA</title><content type='html'>A coincidence here of fire and form:&lt;br /&gt;the green velvet covered vector parades&lt;br /&gt;beside its shadow. Mere interruption,&lt;br /&gt;momentary, in the path of the true light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not the house of the rock, but rolling home,&lt;br /&gt;and still the stepping-stone to paradise.&lt;br /&gt;Mohammed shakes the dust from off his feet&lt;br /&gt;and climbs in, awaiting eternity skeptically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not the car, not the plastic and rubber&lt;br /&gt;and steel; not even the idea of car,&lt;br /&gt;but the places travelled, the collection&lt;br /&gt;of people who have been there or might have&lt;br /&gt;or wanted to. Glove box filled with maps:&lt;br /&gt;the easy escape at the sidewalk’s end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was the pride of Detroit. A decade&lt;br /&gt;of rubbing her gears smooth, of wearing out&lt;br /&gt;her wheels from the inside, defining “round”,&lt;br /&gt;one day to be consigned to cinderblocks;&lt;br /&gt;a mound of moss and rust with gasoline&lt;br /&gt;long gone the way of phlogiston and whale oil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not paradise, not the idea of paradise,&lt;br /&gt;but an arrow on the hood, a signpost,&lt;br /&gt;a vector for transit thereto.&lt;br /&gt;A justification for a wide windshield,&lt;br /&gt;a wrap-around drama, a hydrocarbon incinerator,&lt;br /&gt;a combustion chamber for tobacco,&lt;br /&gt;an all-weather mobile stand for ash trays,&lt;br /&gt;merciful cortege across the Styx,&lt;br /&gt;driving on water, hydroplaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not the prophet, but the prophet’s camel.&lt;br /&gt;The chauffeur new at his job, peaked cap&lt;br /&gt;still crackling and stiff, closes the door&lt;br /&gt;behind his employer and climbs in.&lt;br /&gt;No road to infinity, but we’re not asking for that,&lt;br /&gt;just a safe haven, temporary, contingent,&lt;br /&gt;and the delight or suppression of paradox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 2, 1981&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706290125874158?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706290125874158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706290125874158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706290125874158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706290125874158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html' title='MECCA'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706302093728689</id><published>1990-09-30T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:17:00.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE SNOW TURTLES</title><content type='html'>When the first pale flakes of January fall&lt;br /&gt;you can glimpse them. Look through a pair of field-glasses:&lt;br /&gt;where the rocks used to be there is a hint of them...&lt;br /&gt;Then they are there.&lt;br /&gt;Rub your eyes, blink, and look again:&lt;br /&gt;there is one atop each fence post.&lt;br /&gt;When the wind blows they drop from trees on their prey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes they hitch rides in the wheel-wells of cars,&lt;br /&gt;traveling for miles, and then slip softly onto the road&lt;br /&gt;to spread their propaganda in another county.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are not subject to physical laws.&lt;br /&gt;Each night they rise into the sky:&lt;br /&gt;you can see them at sunrise imitating clouds&lt;br /&gt;or at midnight mocking the stars,&lt;br /&gt;cavorting amongst nebulae, obscuring the galactic hub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Water is their worst enemy.&lt;br /&gt;Rainfall routs and destroys them.&lt;br /&gt;Like witches, they die by melting,&lt;br /&gt;or, like parliaments, by dissolution.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But they are fecund and ubiquitous.&lt;br /&gt;You will find their small round eggs&lt;br /&gt;on sidewalks after a summer storm.&lt;br /&gt;They hibernate all summer and awake with the frost.&lt;br /&gt;They have gathered in myriads at the north and south poles,&lt;br /&gt;awaiting a change of climate, a shift in the earth’s axis,&lt;br /&gt;continental drift, a flux in the solar wind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh! Then they will have us.&lt;br /&gt;Implacable in glaciers and icebergs,&lt;br /&gt;they will meet at the equator,&lt;br /&gt;making of the earth a pair of snow turtles,&lt;br /&gt;heads and limbs withdrawn but locked in frigid embrace,&lt;br /&gt;drifting forever around a swollen icy sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 12, 1980&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706302093728689?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706302093728689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706302093728689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706302093728689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706302093728689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html' title='THE SNOW TURTLES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706314251860242</id><published>1990-09-22T16:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:19:02.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TORTUCIA</title><content type='html'>I will not forsake you, o my Goddess:&lt;br /&gt;Only your light is seen to shine.&lt;br /&gt;Your face alone is the face of beauty,&lt;br /&gt;The table yours at which I dine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This spell of words from a throat of silence;&lt;br /&gt;The shell off this back I lay at your feet.&lt;br /&gt;The scales on these limbs unweighed by justice.&lt;br /&gt;The desire for peace relinquished complete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 6, 1979&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706314251860242?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706314251860242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706314251860242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706314251860242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706314251860242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html' title='TORTUCIA'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706323155470648</id><published>1990-09-14T16:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:20:31.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE GRAND HOTEL BALLROOM</title><content type='html'>Those of them who passed the portal&lt;br /&gt;tapped their feet and laid a floor to&lt;br /&gt;hold the feet that danced inside the door.&lt;br /&gt;Those who built the stairs ascended,&lt;br /&gt;passed, and having passed, pretended&lt;br /&gt;that in the ballroom they could build&lt;br /&gt;the favor of the ladies that they met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She only favors those who build.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who drain the glass are drunken&lt;br /&gt;from the glass, and yet not shrunken&lt;br /&gt;down to be an olive in the glass she holds.&lt;br /&gt;Those who do without are told&lt;br /&gt;to live this sacred shiver of regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 22, 1979&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706323155470648?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706323155470648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706323155470648' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706323155470648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706323155470648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html' title='THE GRAND HOTEL BALLROOM'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706330951286539</id><published>1990-09-06T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:21:49.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE TICKS OF EDEN</title><content type='html'>The price of Eden is eternal loneliness&lt;br /&gt;and there’s no such thing as a good cigar&lt;br /&gt;worth a plugged nickel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;for your hedonic nature.&lt;br /&gt;But this side of Eden is no earthly paradise,&lt;br /&gt;and this side of Jefferson flips a thousand buffaloes&lt;br /&gt;on their tails across the plain again to die.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The price of freedom is external parasites.&lt;br /&gt;Give the ticks your head, their gods what is theirs,&lt;br /&gt;and mortgage the thousands to whomever&lt;br /&gt;comes round again; then your veined leafed hands&lt;br /&gt;drink the down-drawn substance of my inky sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pride of evening is this vernal sibilance&lt;br /&gt;whispering fresh through leaves of evening trees&lt;br /&gt;to bring this victim blanched to his knees,&lt;br /&gt;vanquished white in light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;But, oh, their susurrus:&lt;br /&gt;the prize of heaven is infernal forgiveness&lt;br /&gt;and the gates once open never close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 19, 1979&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706330951286539?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706330951286539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706330951286539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706330951286539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706330951286539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html' title='THE TICKS OF EDEN'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706343294058505</id><published>1990-08-29T16:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:23:52.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'>COCOON</title><content type='html'>A flash of yellow caught my eye&lt;br /&gt;Across the field: a butterfly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made me wonder how he knew&lt;br /&gt;Where it was he butterflew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then in the field I stood alone,&lt;br /&gt;The creature having butterflown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrap myself in silk at night&lt;br /&gt;That I might sample butterflight.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 9, 1978&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706343294058505?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706343294058505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706343294058505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706343294058505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706343294058505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html' title='COCOON'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706351092431808</id><published>1990-08-21T16:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:25:10.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>FLEETMASTER</title><content type='html'>From the cold crux of war’s end&lt;br /&gt;they burst golden and bloomed into the fifties,&lt;br /&gt;and, radiant on four wheels,&lt;br /&gt;they were driven only on mountaintops&lt;br /&gt;or in front of grand scenery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We, however, grew in strong frames&lt;br /&gt;with honeysuckle, white pines, and low cedars&lt;br /&gt;planted in red dirt by forgotten fathers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are the children of bastards&lt;br /&gt;who could make a man pay, who were wont&lt;br /&gt;to shake a strong hand and a stout heart,&lt;br /&gt;but with a touch of the old &lt;i&gt;karuna.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were old when we came.&lt;br /&gt;We are made of zinc, steel, plastic, wire, paint,&lt;br /&gt;chrome, copper, nylon, lead, and no corrosion,&lt;br /&gt;but those others, they rust quiet in shade,&lt;br /&gt;over and under pine needles, on their rims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 23, 1978&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706351092431808?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706351092431808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706351092431808' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706351092431808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706351092431808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html' title='FLEETMASTER'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706372192169215</id><published>1990-08-13T16:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:28:41.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ALIAS</title><content type='html'>Somehow a thin green shaft&lt;br /&gt;has budded into dandelion, taut set,&lt;br /&gt;soon to burst, later to fling grey chaff&lt;br /&gt;to a strong wind, but for now a potential&lt;br /&gt;not yet blossomed, not yet dispersed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For this, and for those not being,&lt;br /&gt;and for those made probable by discontinuity,&lt;br /&gt;she walks somewhere,&lt;br /&gt;and by this or any other name&lt;br /&gt;sleeps untroubled in sunlight,&lt;br /&gt;not yet named and not yet slain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 26, 1977&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706372192169215?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706372192169215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706372192169215' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706372192169215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706372192169215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html' title='ALIAS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706378674970503</id><published>1990-08-05T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:29:46.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE SLOW AND THE LIVING</title><content type='html'>A small cat, delicate,&lt;br /&gt;feeling right, feeling black and tan,&lt;br /&gt;sleeps slit-eyed in a shaft of sun.&lt;br /&gt;Cats move in shadow, move in light,&lt;br /&gt;but this one sleeps past remonstrance.&lt;br /&gt;We are motes splayed in broken points of light&lt;br /&gt;that swirl near the cat’s ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are islands of black bedded in white&lt;br /&gt;and we are the trail from each to each&lt;br /&gt;and the cat’s entrails moving in shadow, moving in sleep.&lt;br /&gt;We are chosen to see this and carry it to light,&lt;br /&gt;to be shadows of people pinned to a painted ceiling&lt;br /&gt;by a candle flicker, and never to feel right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 7, 1977&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706378674970503?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706378674970503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706378674970503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706378674970503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706378674970503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html' title='THE SLOW AND THE LIVING'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706390344575890</id><published>1990-07-28T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:31:43.446-07:00</updated><title type='text'>GHOULS</title><content type='html'>Two hypothetical men sit at a hypothetical table&lt;br /&gt;before a device which displays a sequence of images&lt;br /&gt;at a per second rate greater than the eye can transmit.&lt;br /&gt;This is called continuity; it exists&lt;br /&gt;only in the mind, which is hypothetical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two men discuss a theoretical future; around them&lt;br /&gt;is a time machine carrying them to it.&lt;br /&gt;They describe its miracles:&lt;br /&gt;air-cushion chairs, force-fields, anti-gravity...&lt;br /&gt;My miracles are the molecules of the table&lt;br /&gt;which I hold by brute force in their positions and relations,&lt;br /&gt;giving the illusion of form and the semblance of solidity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To know the female and the hypothetical male&lt;br /&gt;and even the laws of distances, one must drain the hypothesis&lt;br /&gt;and clean it. This is called knowing the ultimate&lt;br /&gt;by one sage or another, but I know only the machine&lt;br /&gt;with its flicker of images and a permanent discussion&lt;br /&gt;between two men at a permanent table.&lt;br /&gt;They are subject to instantaneous change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 13, 1977&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706390344575890?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706390344575890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706390344575890' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706390344575890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706390344575890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html' title='GHOULS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706398585148131</id><published>1990-07-20T16:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:33:05.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WHELK</title><content type='html'>She was lying there,&lt;br /&gt;waiting there for me.&lt;br /&gt;I knew where she would be:&lt;br /&gt;she lay between the land and the sea.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She lay&lt;br /&gt;where the sand meets the sea&lt;br /&gt;and takes the seed flung up by me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was uncorrupted,&lt;br /&gt;save by the sound of surf, and I,&lt;br /&gt;untainted by any thing except desire,&lt;br /&gt;still seek her there where she lay&lt;br /&gt;at the merge of sand and sea,&lt;br /&gt;lying there waiting for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 19, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706398585148131?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706398585148131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706398585148131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706398585148131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706398585148131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html' title='WHELK'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706405029727329</id><published>1990-07-12T16:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:34:10.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ZIPPY</title><content type='html'>Little being born out of nothing&lt;br /&gt;killed into something&lt;br /&gt;pushed by the creator&lt;br /&gt;and pulled by the destroyer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the self stands aloof&lt;br /&gt;and watches you amazed --&lt;br /&gt;or feigns amazement while I suffer it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 31, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706405029727329?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706405029727329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706405029727329' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706405029727329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706405029727329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html' title='ZIPPY'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706413510370730</id><published>1990-07-04T16:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:35:35.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>STASIS STREET</title><content type='html'>On Stasis Street the hill climbs steep.&lt;br /&gt;People walk through walls and sleep.&lt;br /&gt;Houses rise syllable on syllable out of sight:&lt;br /&gt;we hear them slide into the cup of night&lt;br /&gt;and night slides downhill to pool at the base.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At dusk a strain of music spins&lt;br /&gt;away from the men who sing of their sins.&lt;br /&gt;And who can say when the singing begins?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Currently abroad is a common lie:&lt;br /&gt;that we go to Stasis Street when we die.&lt;br /&gt;That the streets are paved with broken glass,&lt;br /&gt;and we pray for the cup, though it will pass.&lt;br /&gt;This is not, however, the truth of the place:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walk there now in sleep, and when&lt;br /&gt;we count the songs by eight or ten&lt;br /&gt;we know the singing will never end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 28, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706413510370730?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706413510370730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706413510370730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706413510370730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706413510370730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html' title='STASIS STREET'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706420256717024</id><published>1990-06-26T16:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:36:42.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>LARGE CHILD</title><content type='html'>In a restaurant over salad&lt;br /&gt;the reflection of a man&lt;br /&gt;moves to meet him,&lt;br /&gt;to break and rebegin in another pane.&lt;br /&gt;Like yourself he moves down a lane&lt;br /&gt;or tunnel and sees only tokens of self.&lt;br /&gt;The hardware of living stands&lt;br /&gt;on a shelf on one wall,&lt;br /&gt;The infamous sun is attacking, and all&lt;br /&gt;his movement is toward the street,&lt;br /&gt;but the reflection breaks&lt;br /&gt;and the movement ends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Young brother, we are given this to see,&lt;br /&gt;and I hope we can,&lt;br /&gt;and I hope you will sit here and see the man&lt;br /&gt;and his reflection meet and disappear&lt;br /&gt;in a restaurant away from the oven of sun.&lt;br /&gt;And I hope you will come down the stairs at a run&lt;br /&gt;to look out the door at an empty street,&lt;br /&gt;to see a doorway without your feet&lt;br /&gt;in it -- and then laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 29, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706420256717024?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706420256717024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706420256717024' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706420256717024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706420256717024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html' title='LARGE CHILD'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706435767927759</id><published>1990-06-18T16:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:39:17.680-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BEGGARS’ LICE</title><content type='html'>A man is walking through the weeds,&lt;br /&gt;or has walked. The weeds were moving,&lt;br /&gt;and that was the wind.&lt;br /&gt;Or the wind stood still and the weeds ran into it.&lt;br /&gt;And a man was walking through the weeds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He walked in bottomland on a road&lt;br /&gt;under the slant of the morning sun.&lt;br /&gt;The sun rose and the man was walking.&lt;br /&gt;Through the weeds, still and moving,&lt;br /&gt;he was out of sight by noon.&lt;br /&gt;The sun grew out of a cloud&lt;br /&gt;to run around the earth.&lt;br /&gt;Or the sun stands still&lt;br /&gt;and the earth rushes towards it.&lt;br /&gt;And the clouds are moving in the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring down these clouds to grey the earth&lt;br /&gt;and rain on the man walking through the weeds.&lt;br /&gt;He walks in sunlight, or in a fine mist&lt;br /&gt;with the sun shining through it.&lt;br /&gt;Or, on a windy knot of road,&lt;br /&gt;under a low morning sun,&lt;br /&gt;swift and motionless,&lt;br /&gt;a man is walking through the weeds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 18, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706435767927759?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706435767927759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706435767927759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706435767927759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706435767927759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html' title='BEGGARS’ LICE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706453992335832</id><published>1990-06-10T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:42:19.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OPHELIA</title><content type='html'>I have seen her rage against winter,&lt;br /&gt;struggling to put her blossoms into the light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen her face on every corner.&lt;br /&gt;I have heard her heart pumping&lt;br /&gt;and her lungs wheezing&lt;br /&gt;and her feet tapping in every city.&lt;br /&gt;I have seen her spread her legs for anyone&lt;br /&gt;in foreign capitals in the public squares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen her deep in the darkened sea,&lt;br /&gt;courted by armies of silent shining fish.&lt;br /&gt;I have seen her grow tangled in woodlands&lt;br /&gt;green and uprising to the hidden sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen her stem cut from her body,&lt;br /&gt;divided lengthwise, shaped and hollowed,&lt;br /&gt;and wrapped around a carbon rod.&lt;br /&gt;Held here in my hand,&lt;br /&gt;it marks in black on her crushed fibers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing else on earth&lt;br /&gt;which she does not hold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 11, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706453992335832?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706453992335832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706453992335832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706453992335832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706453992335832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html' title='OPHELIA'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706487916587684</id><published>1990-06-02T16:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:47:59.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SUMMER BEAST</title><content type='html'>Summer beast rages over ice,&lt;br /&gt;scattering coals, arranging himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His breath loosens ice seeds&lt;br /&gt;from the grip of ground.&lt;br /&gt;Their growing shoots reach for his heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer beast in his cave&lt;br /&gt;nurses all night&lt;br /&gt;his dreams of flame&lt;br /&gt;and plans to set the world alight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dry hot horror of his face&lt;br /&gt;shrivels vegetation&lt;br /&gt;and burns earth skin brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer beast plucks leaves one by one&lt;br /&gt;to feed his furnace and makes raging winter come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 8, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706487916587684?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706487916587684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706487916587684' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706487916587684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706487916587684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html' title='SUMMER BEAST'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706496280555061</id><published>1990-05-25T16:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:49:22.806-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE WATERFALL</title><content type='html'>Inside a dream, lit by a revenant sun,&lt;br /&gt;patterned by dream leaves, axised by night,&lt;br /&gt;bellies of fish swim upward to sight&lt;br /&gt;below the falls where white water tortures stone.&lt;br /&gt;No one can see the fish swim there alone&lt;br /&gt;and the falls and the fish and the pool are one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At our feet now the snow swirls dry and fine&lt;br /&gt;over hard ground the leaves tatter rusty and old.&lt;br /&gt;In a loop of the creek the polyhedra of cold&lt;br /&gt;are cross-hexing a pattern no springtime can shake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And deep in the ice pool our lines are cast.&lt;br /&gt;Having been elsewhere or having been past,&lt;br /&gt;where but now would this winter seem?&lt;br /&gt;And when but here could that leafed summer last&lt;br /&gt;where no one stands by the unwitnessed stream?&lt;br /&gt;And what do pools of deep fish dream?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sleep, my friend, afloat in warm brine,&lt;br /&gt;alone under stars in a mystic ocean.&lt;br /&gt;When waves’ undulant message sets water in motion&lt;br /&gt;to strike our deep ambiance -- then we will wake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 17, 1976&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706496280555061?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706496280555061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706496280555061' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706496280555061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706496280555061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html' title='THE WATERFALL'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706514964643299</id><published>1990-05-17T16:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T16:52:29.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE MANUFACTURE OF TURPENTINE</title><content type='html'>Other than self is only to know the self.&lt;br /&gt;The self in other there the self defines.&lt;br /&gt;To live is to know the intersecting lines&lt;br /&gt;through light and sense the sense of taste distills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than self is only the other self.&lt;br /&gt;Other than trees is only a stand of pines.&lt;br /&gt;In shade and needles’ scent of pines reclines&lt;br /&gt;the feel of cones the cone of vision fills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only in other selves is known the self.&lt;br /&gt;Only on other shelves will stand designs&lt;br /&gt;that stir the mind and show in glowing signs&lt;br /&gt;the words that come from the cup that vision spills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be is only to live inside the self.&lt;br /&gt;To want to leave, to slow the swift declines.&lt;br /&gt;To thrill to the sense that death of sense refines.&lt;br /&gt;It is lack of other selves in self that kills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 28, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706514964643299?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706514964643299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706514964643299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706514964643299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706514964643299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html' title='THE MANUFACTURE OF TURPENTINE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706573333480948</id><published>1990-05-09T16:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T17:02:13.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DEATH IN CARS</title><content type='html'>When the eyes of day&lt;br /&gt;turn away from the sun&lt;br /&gt;when the bronze haze rises&lt;br /&gt;to usurp the city&lt;br /&gt;when the linkages close&lt;br /&gt;and the circuits assemble&lt;br /&gt;we emerge in steel&lt;br /&gt;we are strapped in metal&lt;br /&gt;caged to a chassis&lt;br /&gt;we are staged to ride&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We clog the roads&lt;br /&gt;the roads we built&lt;br /&gt;from our secretions&lt;br /&gt;to their completion&lt;br /&gt;of our excrement&lt;br /&gt;the discarded shells&lt;br /&gt;the shells of wasps&lt;br /&gt;that dug to find&lt;br /&gt;the iron in the ground&lt;br /&gt;the oil in the mind&lt;br /&gt;of ancient strata&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On this mine’s tailings&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;we stretch cold railings&lt;br /&gt;our spasm is movement&lt;br /&gt;our song is death&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In steel cases carried&lt;br /&gt;we have no past&lt;br /&gt;we pass each other&lt;br /&gt;we dare not tarry&lt;br /&gt;In motion inwards&lt;br /&gt;our vector outwards&lt;br /&gt;we make machines&lt;br /&gt;we think electric&lt;br /&gt;we jam the doorways&lt;br /&gt;we thrive on speed&lt;br /&gt;we dine on visions&lt;br /&gt;we drink hydrocarbons&lt;br /&gt;we taste combustion&lt;br /&gt;we smell exhaustion&lt;br /&gt;we burn our fingers&lt;br /&gt;we save the ashes&lt;br /&gt;we live in motion&lt;br /&gt;we die in steel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 18, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706573333480948?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706573333480948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706573333480948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706573333480948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706573333480948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html' title='DEATH IN CARS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111706616564631574</id><published>1990-05-01T17:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-25T17:09:25.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SONG FOR ELI</title><content type='html'>I know you, ice man.&lt;br /&gt;I know your fingers as no man can,&lt;br /&gt;and the bones of your wrist, the joints of your thumb.&lt;br /&gt;I know the knobbly coruscations of your veins&lt;br /&gt;and the movement of your blood like silent rain.&lt;br /&gt;Your opposed muscles thrill to an electric hum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And your tendons: I know them best of all.&lt;br /&gt;From their buried sheaths I can hear the call&lt;br /&gt;they scream in burning. They are dry ice wire.&lt;br /&gt;Stubborn and stiff,&lt;br /&gt;tensed in anticipation of synovial shift&lt;br /&gt;they carry your will through tunnels of fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but I don’t know what burns so down so deep&lt;br /&gt;beneath the bones and the marrow meat&lt;br /&gt;what makes the fire that guides your days&lt;br /&gt;what has built this city and forged your chains&lt;br /&gt;has made this guide for your changing daze&lt;br /&gt;I know it reaches from the ember blaze&lt;br /&gt;for the trees flying free for the bitter sun&lt;br /&gt;it whips your ankles to make you run&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you, grand vizier of pain.&lt;br /&gt;I know you as master of silent rain&lt;br /&gt;and as the goad to waking, the god of the sun.&lt;br /&gt;I know your blocky, quiet force&lt;br /&gt;that wells without end from a single source&lt;br /&gt;to flood the many with the sea of one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I know you in your antipodes,&lt;br /&gt;the world of brimming and quiet ease,&lt;br /&gt;your islands open for languid inspection.&lt;br /&gt;I know you, half-lit, through a thin veil,&lt;br /&gt;a vista of rich ecstasy at the end of the trail.&lt;br /&gt;You keep me moving in that direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 20, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111706616564631574?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111706616564631574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111706616564631574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706616564631574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111706616564631574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html' title='SONG FOR ELI'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710549760929979</id><published>1990-04-23T03:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T04:04:57.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE MAGPIE</title><content type='html'>The sun, old recidivist,&lt;br /&gt;returns to the scene of the crime&lt;br /&gt;and coats the sycamores and the magnolias with its sallow light&lt;br /&gt;and drags their protesting shadows over the glistening lawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the white-faced black cat&lt;br /&gt;stalks her hidden prey in the hidden leafy lane&lt;br /&gt;and the magpie’s eye, drawn by tinsel glitter,&lt;br /&gt;glitters in its turn as the bird turns and wheels,&lt;br /&gt;following a worn black spiral to the empty sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You go with it past the tops of the trees&lt;br /&gt;to end, perhaps, in the tangled stricture of the sassafras,&lt;br /&gt;or to follow your wheels with your hair hung&lt;br /&gt;in the wind, to the deserted chicken farm,&lt;br /&gt;there to satisfy your seeking under its crumbling roof&lt;br /&gt;amid the sharp nasal twang of departed chickens,&lt;br /&gt;or to know it escaped you yesterday&lt;br /&gt;and waits elusive at tomorrow’s turning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will use your feet to take me there from here.&lt;br /&gt;I put the purpose in you year by year.&lt;br /&gt;Fear not these loose and bumpy halting rhymes:&lt;br /&gt;we will save this little tarnished hidden silver till it shines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 26, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710549760929979?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710549760929979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710549760929979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710549760929979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710549760929979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html' title='THE MAGPIE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710641527019617</id><published>1990-04-15T04:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T04:20:15.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE KEEPER</title><content type='html'>I am the keeper of the door.&lt;br /&gt;I am dust-motes dancing over an empty floor&lt;br /&gt;transfixed by sunlight through an empty room.&lt;br /&gt;I am the iris of the night-eye’s bloom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the keeper of the whole.&lt;br /&gt;I am the blossom in the blossoming soul&lt;br /&gt;and the blood-red death smear on twilit snow.&lt;br /&gt;I emerged from nothing; to the same hole I go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the keeper of the sun.&lt;br /&gt;I burn his heels to make him run&lt;br /&gt;and bring down night to sit on his grave.&lt;br /&gt;I am the forefront of a growing wave.&lt;br /&gt;I keep the spring until the first snows:&lt;br /&gt;the keeper dies. While he does, he grows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 28, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710641527019617?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710641527019617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710641527019617' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710641527019617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710641527019617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html' title='THE KEEPER'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710866422534130</id><published>1990-04-07T04:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T04:57:44.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE MANTIS</title><content type='html'>The poem of the mantis&lt;br /&gt;is in the mantis.&lt;br /&gt;The arch of the sea wave extends&lt;br /&gt;and disintegrates; its foam&lt;br /&gt;is received without comment on a smooth rise of sand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem of the mantis&lt;br /&gt;has green eyes and clacking jaws.&lt;br /&gt;Small beetles are moved to surrender&lt;br /&gt;to its patient gangling arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem of the man&lt;br /&gt;is in the search,&lt;br /&gt;is in the knowing&lt;br /&gt;that leaves and stems are designed&lt;br /&gt;and shaped to imitate the mantis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let those who follow construct the plan&lt;br /&gt;of the poem’s construction.&lt;br /&gt;Let them write it in flowing script&lt;br /&gt;on its own tombstone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem of the mantis&lt;br /&gt;is in silent waiting.&lt;br /&gt;The poet gathers little beetles&lt;br /&gt;and crushes them between clockwork jaws.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem of the man&lt;br /&gt;is to see for the first time&lt;br /&gt;the gathering of waves&lt;br /&gt;and the smashing of the sea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 8, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710866422534130?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710866422534130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710866422534130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710866422534130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710866422534130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html' title='THE MANTIS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710910673195787</id><published>1990-03-30T04:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:05:06.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE</title><content type='html'>The road winds down through swamps to a lake&lt;br /&gt;overhung with silence so thick the birds are still&lt;br /&gt;as lake algae, as rotten logs, as the water snake&lt;br /&gt;on the interface of lake and air, curling alone&lt;br /&gt;among the hard-shelled painted shapes which brave&lt;br /&gt;the sun’s fierce cry to echo their own&lt;br /&gt;across the thin ripple of the water spiders’ dance, to fill&lt;br /&gt;the thick water with their fever, with their deep reptile prints.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They sleep in blowfly heat, stalk the mud to grope&lt;br /&gt;for their scavenge. It is their purpose and their hope&lt;br /&gt;to seek the fringe of the lake and fry in the sun;&lt;br /&gt;to lie quiet in fear, unnoticed, until the day has run,&lt;br /&gt;and then slip like a leaf into the twilight murk;&lt;br /&gt;to repeat it all at the sun’s increase,&lt;br /&gt;with all years their twilight, all summers their days;&lt;br /&gt;to grow their shells solid, and let the growing work&lt;br /&gt;itself out, etching patterns in royal blaze;&lt;br /&gt;and to bear it somehow until the growing cease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you remember an armored prince&lt;br /&gt;and the sweet insistent silence of his song,&lt;br /&gt;you know all too well the turtles’ voice;&lt;br /&gt;you lie on their logs, you share their swampy grave&lt;br /&gt;and steam in a rain-whipped sun, though not by choice,&lt;br /&gt;and you know, when a soft susurrus rises with their fear&lt;br /&gt;through mosquito air, through sun-cycles endlessly long,&lt;br /&gt;that it is only their quiet crying that you hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 11, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710910673195787?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710910673195787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710910673195787' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710910673195787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710910673195787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html' title='THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710924962661374</id><published>1990-03-22T05:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:07:29.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CONVERSATION WITH THE GHOST OF AN OLD KNIGHT SITTING ON SHAKESPEARE’S GRAVE</title><content type='html'>Ah me, laddie...&lt;br /&gt;In my time&lt;br /&gt;I’ve birthed a few like you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They come out spanking pale and gleaming&lt;br /&gt;and eager for the path unfolds&lt;br /&gt;glistening dew to the morning town;&lt;br /&gt;they go with fear, until they know&lt;br /&gt;and remember what they want is knowing,&lt;br /&gt;remembering without fear&lt;br /&gt;where they stood before and in what land,&lt;br /&gt;or if she was read and in what books,&lt;br /&gt;where down by the water curl you walked&lt;br /&gt;in the tide pools, among the clams and reeds,&lt;br /&gt;and close on the right a brace of ships at berth&lt;br /&gt;bathed in consuming sun, and she touched your arm,&lt;br /&gt;remarked upon the beauty. You agreed,&lt;br /&gt;but knew it lay not on that shore nor in that spanking sun&lt;br /&gt;nor with its twin broken in trailing glitter beneath the near horizon&lt;br /&gt;but lodged in something else, something in you both,&lt;br /&gt;the beauty she, and then you knew:&lt;br /&gt;the story stood unreflected,&lt;br /&gt;and that you could not speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah me, laddie.&lt;br /&gt;Guinevere.&lt;br /&gt;I see that you’ve been thinking of her, too.&lt;br /&gt;But have no fear:&lt;br /&gt;you’ll never in your arms again&lt;br /&gt;hold that lady fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 16, 1975&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710924962661374?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710924962661374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710924962661374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710924962661374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710924962661374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html' title='CONVERSATION WITH THE GHOST OF AN OLD KNIGHT SITTING ON SHAKESPEARE’S GRAVE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710938677766722</id><published>1990-03-14T05:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:09:46.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE POULTRY FARM</title><content type='html'>It stood yesterday and the day before&lt;br /&gt;Over these low flat shacks on the eastern shore&lt;br /&gt;In firm reflection of a vanished heat.&lt;br /&gt;The tree was this land’s only sign,&lt;br /&gt;And this the place I came to sit&lt;br /&gt;And strongly drink its intertwine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In its shadows chickens scratched,&lt;br /&gt;Squawked and sputtered, and were gone.&lt;br /&gt;The parched grey windworn boards linger on&lt;br /&gt;Into this new day when new breeds hatch:&lt;br /&gt;More repentant chickens. They have not known&lt;br /&gt;The tree, will not look up to see&lt;br /&gt;Its fingers unfold their intricacies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From its branches I was shown&lt;br /&gt;The structure of the surrounding land,&lt;br /&gt;The low purple hills so close at hand&lt;br /&gt;In the distant west, and lightening&lt;br /&gt;In the east the deepening dawn.&lt;br /&gt;Now sky-sweep and earth rub like freezing hands&lt;br /&gt;And shrink from the pinch and forethought of snowing&lt;br /&gt;As the wind settles in with its grey blight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And winter comes with tree bones bleakened white.&lt;br /&gt;This broad land with its low scrub,&lt;br /&gt;These sad chickens, and all our proud sweat&lt;br /&gt;Live the same cycle and spin the same wheel&lt;br /&gt;Through light and water, and in the end each must deal&lt;br /&gt;With complete absence. But it is now my hub,&lt;br /&gt;And now this one tree’s absence which I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 4, 1974&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710938677766722?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710938677766722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710938677766722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710938677766722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710938677766722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html' title='THE POULTRY FARM'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111710966656493310</id><published>1990-03-06T05:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:14:26.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE ICE STORM</title><content type='html'>Williamsburg, city of weight:&lt;br /&gt;you baffle me with your hedge and springing.&lt;br /&gt;This cartoon town has kept me late,&lt;br /&gt;hanging from a ledge with my fingers clinging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After sleet the cold rain swooped&lt;br /&gt;through silent air and iced the trees.&lt;br /&gt;Their budding seeded a lethal crystal&lt;br /&gt;and the whole of the town was dragged to its knees&lt;br /&gt;and time froze with it: the cold air stilled&lt;br /&gt;and shuddered to a stop, enclosed in its sheath,&lt;br /&gt;while hunched in their coats figures froze on the corner&lt;br /&gt;and the clouds hung ice-heavy, and the town underneath&lt;br /&gt;was caught in its moment, and I could not say&lt;br /&gt;if the instant was mine, or the world fabricked this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Williamsburg, city of ice:&lt;br /&gt;rush to replace the paint and peeling.&lt;br /&gt;Lay down your cards or cease your advice.&lt;br /&gt;Your grey-smudged hands have printed the ceiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this landscape of statues my vision holds two:&lt;br /&gt;on their faces frost glistens. Their hands are rimed blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Her &lt;/i&gt;fingers poise over the keyboard, and &lt;i&gt;hers &lt;/i&gt;turn the page.&lt;br /&gt;The faces, when mobile turned by anger or spite,&lt;br /&gt;now glaze with indifference. They wait the approach&lt;br /&gt;of sleet-filled twilight and the horizon of night.&lt;br /&gt;When the ice cracks and splinters and motion resumes&lt;br /&gt;till the next moment freezes, what can they know,&lt;br /&gt;whose page has been turned and whose hands have descended,&lt;br /&gt;but the lash of our sleet and the imminence of snow?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Williamsburg, city of water:&lt;br /&gt;if not the rain, endure the snowing.&lt;br /&gt;Burst at the seams like an overfilled bladder.&lt;br /&gt;The spring of your burst is my reason for going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 23, 1974&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111710966656493310?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111710966656493310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111710966656493310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710966656493310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111710966656493310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html' title='THE ICE STORM'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711004565745577</id><published>1990-02-26T05:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:20:45.656-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WINTER LANDSCAPE WITH IMAGINARY TREES</title><content type='html'>The light expands&lt;br /&gt;though it seems to flow&lt;br /&gt;through dry-leaved trees&lt;br /&gt;tempting early snow:&lt;br /&gt;It hangs in the air,&lt;br /&gt;swirling sleepy and slow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A river barge&lt;br /&gt;Breathing low and soft&lt;br /&gt;gathers crested waves,&lt;br /&gt;bringing its forehead clear&lt;br /&gt;of the sluggish foam,&lt;br /&gt;singing its moaning song&lt;br /&gt;tacked to a smooth iron sky,&lt;br /&gt;bringing the hour near&lt;br /&gt;of another departure.&lt;br /&gt;We wait and stay,&lt;br /&gt;but our paths divide&lt;br /&gt;and with it we stray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The light expands:&lt;br /&gt;we watch it grow.&lt;br /&gt;It overwhelms from above&lt;br /&gt;and glitters below&lt;br /&gt;through street-caressing puddles;&lt;br /&gt;in our eyes they glow&lt;br /&gt;and extend in patterns.&lt;br /&gt;We can never know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 12, 1973&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711004565745577?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711004565745577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711004565745577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711004565745577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711004565745577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html' title='WINTER LANDSCAPE WITH IMAGINARY TREES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711066534619610</id><published>1990-02-18T05:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:31:05.350-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE DECAY-OF-THE-SOCIAL-FABRIC-IN-TIDEWATER-VIRGINIA BLUES</title><content type='html'>Black man work for the white man&lt;br /&gt;Black man go for a ride&lt;br /&gt;Black man pay&lt;br /&gt;for a dollar a day&lt;br /&gt;with the spit in his mouth and the hole in his side&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;White man drinkin his coffee&lt;br /&gt;Black man drinkin his wine&lt;br /&gt;Black man cry&lt;br /&gt;and he scream at the sky&lt;br /&gt;cause he madder than hell at the end of his line&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Black man hide in the sewer&lt;br /&gt;Black man climbin the trees&lt;br /&gt;White man dead&lt;br /&gt;with a hole in his head&lt;br /&gt;or he broke up cryin and down on his knees&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Black man live on the hilltop&lt;br /&gt;White man down in the dust&lt;br /&gt;Black man say&lt;br /&gt;don’t live for today&lt;br /&gt;and polish your Caddies before they rust&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 4, 1973&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711066534619610?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711066534619610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711066534619610' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711066534619610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711066534619610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html' title='THE DECAY-OF-THE-SOCIAL-FABRIC-IN-TIDEWATER-VIRGINIA BLUES'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711089974840744</id><published>1990-02-10T05:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:34:59.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WOODPECKER</title><content type='html'>I encounter an aerial ferret&lt;br /&gt;leaving his inscription on a truncated pine,&lt;br /&gt;choosing his wriggling morsels&lt;br /&gt;from those who feed on the ex-living,&lt;br /&gt;the trees that shaded the thirties,&lt;br /&gt;once a canopy over hand-cranked&lt;br /&gt;ice cream and an aging Ford&lt;br /&gt;during a dusty summer&lt;br /&gt;sneaked past rural depression&lt;br /&gt;and a dying peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, red-backed gunboat, how you find&lt;br /&gt;the essence of your search, and how to ride&lt;br /&gt;the turned-back lazy updrafts to the trees,&lt;br /&gt;the dead trees swaying&lt;br /&gt;grimly on a weathered hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 17, 1973&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711089974840744?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711089974840744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711089974840744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711089974840744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711089974840744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html' title='WOODPECKER'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711101067721468</id><published>1990-02-02T05:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:38:33.386-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MARCH</title><content type='html'>All things rigid will flow.&lt;br /&gt;The clenching cords in your stomach will unknot.&lt;br /&gt;One by one your tendons will relent&lt;br /&gt;and ripe grain like water&lt;br /&gt;will run through your polished fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lightening the east, spraying the trees hazy,&lt;br /&gt;spring in the South comes fabled and soft,&lt;br /&gt;reaching over the bed, hanging green in the windowframe.&lt;br /&gt;Spiders dance its rhythms on a hieroglyphic ceiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your unwilling tongue will sing it, too;&lt;br /&gt;your body will thrust from its bed,&lt;br /&gt;tantalized by the bursting ground,&lt;br /&gt;the vows of the dry earth&lt;br /&gt;yearly forgotten and forsworn&lt;br /&gt;and rasping your marrow with their fatal hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A sparrow, with scant hesitation,&lt;br /&gt;lifts, and evaporates over the streaked roof’s tilt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your life, long wooed, will release you.&lt;br /&gt;Your death will drive your hands.&lt;br /&gt;Seeds of the wild grass will be sown in the valleys,&lt;br /&gt;and all things rigid will flow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 16, 1973&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711101067721468?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711101067721468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711101067721468' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711101067721468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711101067721468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html' title='MARCH'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711141321918717</id><published>1990-01-25T05:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T05:43:33.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RED BUS</title><content type='html'>Red bus, yellow up, fetching pebble people from the town,&lt;br /&gt;trundles up the Ripon Road, feeling the damp west wind.&lt;br /&gt;It stops, ejecting portly women painfully onto the street,&lt;br /&gt;while spinsters nod knowingly through its upper windows,&lt;br /&gt;kneading its metallic textures with the toes of their boots,&lt;br /&gt;waiting for the afternoon and the rain&lt;br /&gt;which will wash them with coal soot into the River Nidd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the rain comes and the sun sets and snow promises,&lt;br /&gt;and Harrogate greets twilight’s mossy fingers, answers with glare.&lt;br /&gt;Moody children clot the shelters, stomaching the drizzle,&lt;br /&gt;sniffling the grey remnants of their play on the green-painted benches,&lt;br /&gt;summoning their vehicle through dusk, waiting for the snout of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Red Bus stretching agonizingly around pedestrianed corners,&lt;br /&gt;hinting of a destination in Bilton, of a steaming kitchen&lt;br /&gt;and linoleum at tea-time and a worn banister leading up&lt;br /&gt;or a farmer in Pately Bridge in the snow-threatened valley&lt;br /&gt;or the wet coal skies of Sheffield and urban night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Red bus carry me heated and dry.&lt;br /&gt;Gentle sleep take me like soft driven snow.&lt;br /&gt;Red bus, urban, or in winter valleys:&lt;br /&gt;nothing is bad but what she can cure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 13, 1972&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711141321918717?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711141321918717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711141321918717' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711141321918717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711141321918717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html' title='RED BUS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711271784925983</id><published>1990-01-17T06:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T06:05:17.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TOADS</title><content type='html'>As dawn sloughs the dew off the unkempt lawn&lt;br /&gt;And starlings snarl in unison at unfolding day&lt;br /&gt;Toads push their padded blunt toes into the early light&lt;br /&gt;And freeze our feet to the floor where we stand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the quick even pulse&lt;br /&gt;Of sea-smashing starboard engines&lt;br /&gt;The regularity of their breathing shakes their bellies in jest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They climb the waste pipes to the roof,&lt;br /&gt;Enter gleefully through vents and holes, and&lt;br /&gt;Snake their tongues round the hairs&lt;br /&gt;Beneath men’s pajama legs, licking into the folds&lt;br /&gt;Of women’s buttocks, buttering the toast&lt;br /&gt;With their saliva, and flee&lt;br /&gt;With the last yawning and full waking to gritty morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the chime of the clock they squat and rest&lt;br /&gt;Or hop lazily over the kitchen tiles&lt;br /&gt;Or urinate on the fizzing carpet&lt;br /&gt;Or idly preen each other’s warts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the sun voids its phlegm and activates corpses&lt;br /&gt;Toads return to window-wells&lt;br /&gt;And vanish down darkened holes&lt;br /&gt;With muddy plops, to watch the toadmen&lt;br /&gt;Circumspectly through bulbous sleepy eyes&lt;br /&gt;As they move about above&lt;br /&gt;And beat their dogs with sharpened sticks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 11, 1972&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711271784925983?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711271784925983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711271784925983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711271784925983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711271784925983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html' title='TOADS'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111711283469064080</id><published>1990-01-09T06:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-26T06:07:14.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BRANDYWINE</title><content type='html'>Bishops deserve much better&lt;br /&gt;Said his eminence&lt;br /&gt;Over a cup of galoshes tea.&lt;br /&gt;Christ cannot expect us all&lt;br /&gt;To do His work as wraiths.&lt;br /&gt;He laughed gold-leaf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His sandals were made of sweat, you see;&lt;br /&gt;His eyes were made of corn.&lt;br /&gt;His hands were taut-laced filigree;&lt;br /&gt;His nose was a crusted horn.&lt;br /&gt;He lived in a slattern’s cavern bed;&lt;br /&gt;He died in a flaming truck.&lt;br /&gt;They found his body deprived of its head&lt;br /&gt;Fathoms-deep in Ouseburn muck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thorns, said the bishop,&lt;br /&gt;Are all very well,&lt;br /&gt;But one must -- he short-chuckled --&lt;br /&gt;Have the rose as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=55%&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 1, 1970&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;table width=70% border=0 cellpadding=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align=left&gt;&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align=right&gt;&lt;a href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111711283469064080?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111711283469064080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111711283469064080' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711283469064080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111711283469064080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html' title='BRANDYWINE'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111722417728747093</id><published>1990-01-05T13:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:42:34.806-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chronological List</title><content type='html'>&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=4&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1970"&gt;1970&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Brandywine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1972"&gt;1972&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;Toads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red Bus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1973"&gt;1973&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;March&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;Woodpecker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;The Decay-of-the-Social-Fabric-in-Tidewater-Virginia Blues&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;Winter Landscape with Imaginary Trees&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1974"&gt;1974&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;The Ice Storm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;The Poultry Farm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1975"&gt;1975&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Conversation with the Ghost of an Old Knight Sitting on Shakespeare's Grave&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The Voice of the Turtle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;The Mantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;The Keeper&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;The Magpie&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;Song for Eli&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;Death in Cars&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;The Manufacture of Turpentine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1976"&gt;1976&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;The Waterfall&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer Beast&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;Ophelia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;Beggars' Lice&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;Large Child&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;Stasis Street&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Zippy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Whelk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1977"&gt;1977&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Ghouls&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;The Slow and the Living&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Alias&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1978"&gt;1978&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Cocoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Fleetmaster&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1979"&gt;1979&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;The Ticks of Eden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;The Grand Hotel Ballroom&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Tortucia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1980"&gt;1980&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;The Snow Turtles&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1981"&gt;1981&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;Mecca&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1986"&gt;1986&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Chelonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1987"&gt;1987&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;The Idiom of the Table&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Tree of Heaven&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;The Woman I Saw&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1988"&gt;1988&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Otherlight&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Rising Shadow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1989"&gt;1989&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;An Accord of Repetitions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1990"&gt;1990&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Brute Reality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Parliamentary Procedure&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1993"&gt;1993&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;The Definition of Space&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;Prophecy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1994"&gt;1994&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Saints of Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1995"&gt;1995&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;The Middle Distance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1996"&gt;1996&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;Innovation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;To Ceara, for February&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;Changeling&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;Entropy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Sayler’s Creek&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Mason Dixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Archetypes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Second Childhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Context&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Mr. Mistletoe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1997"&gt;1997&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Reptile Dreams&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Volunteers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;Translucence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Very Well Then, I Dissemble&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Halcyon Days&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1998"&gt;1998&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Sideways Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Monkey Trap&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="1999"&gt;1999&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Ossa Lapidum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Éminence Grise&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Orientation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Pining for Atlantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;Old Roads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Point of Fork&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Anniversary&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2000"&gt;2000&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Sharing the East&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;Queens and Drones&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2001"&gt;2001&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Down Before Vontay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2002"&gt;2002&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;The Amplitude of Time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Disappearing Act&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Turn and Bow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;The Mistakes of History&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2003"&gt;2003&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Vernal Rebus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Remembering Shelagh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2004"&gt;2004&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Temporal Jigsaws&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2005"&gt;2005&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;The Love Song of Anne Hedonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;Song of Determinance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=11% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="2006"&gt;2006&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Goodbye to Pete&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;Patchwork Music&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111722417728747093?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111722417728747093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111722417728747093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722417728747093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722417728747093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/chronological-list.html' title='Chronological List'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111722828625105160</id><published>1990-01-04T14:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:40:22.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Index of Titles</title><content type='html'>&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=4&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td width=2% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name=""&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;Accord of Repetitions, An&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Alias&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;Amplitude of Time, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Anniversary&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Archetypes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;Beggars' Lice&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Brandywine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Brute Reality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;Changeling&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Chelonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Cocoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Context&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Conversation with the Ghost of an Old Knight Sitting on Shakespeare's Grave&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;Death in Cars&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;Decay-of-the-Social-Fabric-in-Tidewater-Virginia Blues, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;Definition of Space, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Disappearing Act&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Down Before Vontay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Éminence Grise&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;Entropy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Fleetmaster&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Ghouls&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Goodbye to Pete&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;Grand Hotel Ballroom, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Halcyon Days&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;Ice Storm, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;Idiom of the Table, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;Innovation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;Keeper, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;Large Child&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;Love Song of Anne Hedonia, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;Magpie, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;Mantis, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;Manufacture of Turpentine, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;March&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Mason Dixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;Mecca&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;Middle Distance, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;Mistakes of History, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Monkey Trap&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Mr. Mistletoe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;Old Roads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;Ophelia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Orientation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Ossa Lapidum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Otherlight&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Parliamentary Procedure&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;Patchwork Music&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Pining for Atlantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Point of Fork&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;Poultry Farm, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;Prophecy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;Queens and Drones&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red Bus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Remembering Shelagh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Reptile Dreams&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Rising Shadow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Saints of Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Sayler’s Creek&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Second Childhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Sharing the East&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Sideways Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;Slow and the Living, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;Snow Turtles, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;Song for Eli&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;Song of Determinance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;Stasis Street&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer Beast&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Temporal Jigsaws&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;Ticks of Eden, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;To Ceara, for February&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;Toads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Tortucia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;Translucence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Tree of Heaven&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Turn and Bow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Vernal Rebus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Very Well Then, I Dissemble&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;Voice of the Turtle, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Volunteers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;Waterfall, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Whelk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;Winter Landscape with Imaginary Trees&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;Woman I Saw, The&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;Woodpecker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Zippy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111722828625105160?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111722828625105160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111722828625105160' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722828625105160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722828625105160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/index-of-titles.html' title='Index of Titles'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111722870205714754</id><published>1990-01-03T14:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:37:34.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Index of First Lines</title><content type='html'>&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=4&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td width=2% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name=""&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;A coincidence here of fire and form&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;A flash of yellow caught my eye&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;A man is walking through the weeds&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;A man up a tree with a pole touches&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;A painting is an artful lie, a hoax&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;A small cat, delicate&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Ah me, laddie&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;Air attains to it always&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;All newness comes into the world through this&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;All things rigid will flow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;As dawn sloughs the dew off the unkempt lawn&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Bishops deserve much better&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Bitter nostalgia for a place that proved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;Black man work for the white man&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Collections of moments are, by custom, sequenced temporally&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Does not rise beyond the trees, surprising us&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Drive down White Rock Road on a bright February day&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;From the cold crux of war’s end&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Gilt-edged, contained by the brilliant borders&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Had either of us ever tried&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Hold up a mask before the heart&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;How would it be to spend seventeen years&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;I am the keeper of the door&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;I encounter an aerial ferret&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;I have seen her rage against winter&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;I kill the ordered flow of time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;I know you, ice man&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;I remember the day so long ago&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;I vow that I will learn to love Dysphoria&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;I will not forsake you, o my Goddess&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;In a restaurant over salad&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;In the idiom of the table&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;Inside a dream, lit by a revenant sun&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;It seems that lately I keep thinking about you&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;It seems that sleep is denied to all&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;It stood yesterday and the day before&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Little being born out of nothing&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Look back at one whose whole life lay ahead&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Marco Polo stood on a hill with doomed Cathay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;My mind is full of turtles&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;Neither here nor there: it lies between the rock&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Of all the days that swoop low over the water&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Of the many who knew the many of you&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Old words, old bones, old stones&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;On Stasis Street the hill climbs steep&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;One-eyed now, with a stump for one leg&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;Other than self is only to know the self&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Paradox would be impossible without language&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Reading about the catalpa, the phrase&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red bus, yellow up, fetching pebble people from the town&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;She was lying there&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;She wipes her hands on her apron&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Somehow a thin green shaft&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer beast rages over ice&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Tell me how to live in October&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;The central obsession of our federal estate&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;The distribution of blossoms on an ironweed plant&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;The early leaves must steal the sun&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;The first is not occluded, with the cat&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;The first law of psychodynamics states&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;The floodlit fountain in the winter pond&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;The human soul is a hall of mirrors&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;The images of fear are the sum and substance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;The light expands&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;The motions of light which lie behind&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;The plowman knows where the ox will turn, and when&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;The poem of the mantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;The price of Eden is eternal loneliness&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The road winds down through swamps to a lake&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;The roads will end&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;The seed fell in a neglected corner&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;The sun, old recidivist&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;The uneasy traveler, off the map after backtracking too much&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;The wizened husk upon the bed&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;There is too much history here in Virginia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;Those of them who passed the portal&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;To be a lord, to loaf again at ease&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;To die in one’s romantic youth: that’s the ticket!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Toward the end of May, while green is still fresh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Translucent gold in the canopy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Travelling southeast in the early morning&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Two hypothetical men sit at a hypothetical table&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;We roll the stone of poetry, and thus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;What do they have that makes us worship them&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;When nothing here is certain&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;When the eyes of day&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;When the first pale flakes of January fall&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Whenever I try to describe time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;Williamsburg, city of weight&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;Year after year the tread of the tractor wheel&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111722870205714754?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111722870205714754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111722870205714754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722870205714754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111722870205714754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/index-of-first-lines.html' title='Index of First Lines'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12381731.post-111721117268630479</id><published>1990-01-02T09:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T20:35:50.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Topical Indexes</title><content type='html'>&lt;table width=100% border=0 cellpadding=4&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="problem-of-time"&gt;The Problem of Time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;An Accord of Repetitions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Archetypes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;Beggars' Lice&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Brute Reality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Conversation with the Ghost of an Old Knight Sitting on Shakespeare's Grave&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;The Definition of Space&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Disappearing Act&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Down Before Vontay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Éminence Grise&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;Entropy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Fleetmaster&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Goodbye to Pete&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;The Grand Hotel Ballroom&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;Innovation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;The Keeper&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;Large Child&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;The Magpie&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;The Mantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;The Manufacture of Turpentine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Mason Dixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;The Middle Distance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Monkey Trap&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Mr. Mistletoe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;Old Roads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Orientation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Ossa Lapidum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Pining for Atlantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Point of Fork&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;The Poultry Farm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;Prophecy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;Queens and Drones&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Rising Shadow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Sayler’s Creek&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Second Childhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Sideways Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;Song of Determinance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;Stasis Street&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer Beast&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Temporal Jigsaws&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The Voice of the Turtle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;The Waterfall&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="family"&gt;Family&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;An Accord of Repetitions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Alias&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Anniversary&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;Changeling&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Goodbye to Pete&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;The Love Song of Anne Hedonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Remembering Shelagh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Second Childhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;The Slow and the Living&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;Song for Eli&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;The Ticks of Eden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;To Ceara, for February&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Tree of Heaven&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Turn and Bow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Zippy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="reptile-poems"&gt;Reptile Poems&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Chelonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;The Mistakes of History&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Reptile Dreams&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;The Snow Turtles&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Tortucia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The Voice of the Turtle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="natural-landscape"&gt;The Natural Landscape&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;The Amplitude of Time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;The Definition of Space&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Disappearing Act&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Down Before Vontay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Halcyon Days&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;The Magpie&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;The Middle Distance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Parliamentary Procedure&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;The Poultry Farm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Rising Shadow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Vernal Rebus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The Voice of the Turtle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Volunteers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;The Waterfall&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Whelk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="math-and-science"&gt;Math and Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Archetypes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Ghouls&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;The Mantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Reptile Dreams&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Saints of Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Sideways Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Turn and Bow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="language-and-etymology"&gt;Language and Etymology&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Cocoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Halcyon Days&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;The Idiom of the Table&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Vernal Rebus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Very Well Then, I Dissemble&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="history"&gt;History&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;The Amplitude of Time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Context&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Mason Dixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Sayler’s Creek&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Sharing the East&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="myth-and-spirituality"&gt;Myth and Spirituality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Brandywine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Brute Reality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Chelonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Conversation with the Ghost of an Old Knight Sitting on Shakespeare's Grave&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/02/goodbye-to-pete.html"&gt;Goodbye to Pete&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;The Grand Hotel Ballroom&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;The Manufacture of Turpentine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Mr. Mistletoe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;Ophelia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Orientation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Ossa Lapidum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Otherlight&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Point of Fork&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer Beast&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;The Ticks of Eden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;To Ceara, for February&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Tortucia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;Translucence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Tree of Heaven&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Very Well Then, I Dissemble&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Whelk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;The Woman I Saw&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="machine"&gt;The Machine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;Death in Cars&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Fleetmaster&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;Mecca&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red Bus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="yorkshire"&gt;Yorkshire&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Brandywine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red Bus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="williamsburg"&gt;Williamsburg&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;The Decay-of-the-Social-Fabric-in-Tidewater-Virginia Blues&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;The Ice Storm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;March&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;Toads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;Winter Landscape with Imaginary Trees&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;Woodpecker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="brotherhood"&gt;Brotherhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/alias.html"&gt;Alias&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/beggars-lice.html"&gt;Beggars' Lice&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/conversation-with-ghost-of-old-knight.html"&gt;Conversation with the Ghost of an Old Knight Sitting on Shakespeare's Grave&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/death-in-cars.html"&gt;Death in Cars&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/ghouls.html"&gt;Ghouls&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;The Keeper&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/large-child.html"&gt;Large Child&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/magpie.html"&gt;The Magpie&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/mantis.html"&gt;The Mantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/manufacture-of-turpentine.html"&gt;The Manufacture of Turpentine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/ophelia.html"&gt;Ophelia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/poultry-farm.html"&gt;The Poultry Farm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/slow-and-living.html"&gt;The Slow and the Living&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/song-for-eli.html"&gt;Song for Eli&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/stasis-street.html"&gt;Stasis Street&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/06/summer-beast.html"&gt;Summer Beast&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/voice-of-turtle.html"&gt;The Voice of the Turtle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/05/waterfall.html"&gt;The Waterfall&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/whelk.html"&gt;Whelk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/07/zippy.html"&gt;Zippy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="eden"&gt;Eden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/accord-of-repetitions.html"&gt;An Accord of Repetitions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Anniversary&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/archetypes.html"&gt;Archetypes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/brute-reality.html"&gt;Brute Reality&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/changeling.html"&gt;Changeling&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/chelonia.html"&gt;Chelonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/06/cicadas.html"&gt;Cicadas&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Cocoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/10/context.html"&gt;Context&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/05/definition-of-space.html"&gt;The Definition of Space&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Éminence Grise&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/entropy.html"&gt;Entropy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/fleetmaster.html"&gt;Fleetmaster&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/grand-hotel-ballroom.html"&gt;The Grand Hotel Ballroom&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/halcyon-days.html"&gt;Halcyon Days&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/idiom-of-table.html"&gt;The Idiom of the Table&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/innovation.html"&gt;Innovation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/05/mason-dixon.html"&gt;Mason Dixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/10/mecca.html"&gt;Mecca&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1995/10/middle-distance.html"&gt;The Middle Distance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Monkey Trap&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/mr-mistletoe.html"&gt;Mr. Mistletoe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/08/old-roads.html"&gt;Old Roads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/03/orientation.html"&gt;Orientation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/ossa-lapidum.html"&gt;Ossa Lapidum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/otherlight.html"&gt;Otherlight&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Parliamentary Procedure&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/04/pining-for-atlantis.html"&gt;Pining for Atlantis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/10/point-of-fork.html"&gt;Point of Fork&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1993/10/prophecy.html"&gt;Prophecy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/reptile-dreams.html"&gt;Reptile Dreams&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/rising-shadow.html"&gt;Rising Shadow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Saints of Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/04/saylers-creek.html"&gt;Sayler’s Creek&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/07/second-childhood.html"&gt;Second Childhood&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/10/sideways-stories.html"&gt;Sideways Stories&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;The Snow Turtles&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/ticks-of-eden.html"&gt;The Ticks of Eden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/02/to-ceara-for-february.html"&gt;To Ceara, for February&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/tortucia.html"&gt;Tortucia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/07/translucence.html"&gt;Translucence&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/tree-of-heaven.html"&gt;Tree of Heaven&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/08/very-well-then-i-dissemble.html"&gt;Very Well Then, I Dissemble&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Volunteers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/11/woman-i-saw.html"&gt;The Woman I Saw&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="apex"&gt;Apex&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/amplitude-of-time.html"&gt;The Amplitude of Time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/disappearing-act.html"&gt;Disappearing Act&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2001/05/down-before-vontay_30.html"&gt;Down Before Vontay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;The Love Song of Anne Hedonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/mistakes-of-history.html"&gt;The Mistakes of History&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;Patchwork Music&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/08/queens-and-drones.html"&gt;Queens and Drones&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Remembering Shelagh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Sharing the East&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/song-of-determinance.html"&gt;Song of Determinance&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2004/10/temporal-jigsaws_111678486512491895.html"&gt;Temporal Jigsaws&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/11/turn-and-bow.html"&gt;Turn and Bow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/04/vernal-rebus.html"&gt;Vernal Rebus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="sonnets"&gt;Sonnets&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/05/costume-changes.html"&gt;Costume Changes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/04/keeper.html"&gt;The Keeper&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;The Love Song of Anne Hedonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1996/12/metricide.html"&gt;Metricide&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2003/05/remembering-shelagh.html"&gt;Remembering Shelagh&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1994/06/saints-of-science.html"&gt;Saints of Science&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2002/02/suzerainty.html"&gt;Suzerainty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="light-verse"&gt;Light Verse&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/11/anniversary.html"&gt;Anniversary&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/08/cocoon.html"&gt;Cocoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;The Decay-of-the-Social-Fabric-in-Tidewater-Virginia Blues&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1999/01/minence-grise.html"&gt;Éminence Grise&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2005/02/love-song-of-anne-hedonia.html"&gt;The Love Song of Anne Hedonia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1998/11/monkey-trap.html"&gt;Monkey Trap&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/12/parliamentary-procedure.html"&gt;Parliamentary Procedure&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2006/03/patchwork-music.html"&gt;Patchwork Music&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/2000/07/sharing-east_26.html"&gt;Sharing the East&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/09/snow-turtles.html"&gt;The Snow Turtles&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1997/06/volunteers.html"&gt;Volunteers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width=40% valign=top&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a name="juvenilia"&gt;Juvenilia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td valign=top&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/brandywine.html"&gt;Brandywine&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/decay-of-social-fabric-in-tidewater.html"&gt;The Decay-of-the-Social-Fabric-in-Tidewater-Virginia Blues&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/03/ice-storm.html"&gt;The Ice Storm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/march.html"&gt;March&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/red-bus.html"&gt;Red Bus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/toads.html"&gt;Toads&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/winter-landscape-with-imaginary-trees.html"&gt;Winter Landscape with Imaginary Trees&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/02/woodpecker.html"&gt;Woodpecker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12381731-111721117268630479?l=voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/feeds/111721117268630479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12381731&amp;postID=111721117268630479' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111721117268630479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12381731/posts/default/111721117268630479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://voiceoftheturtle.blogspot.com/1990/01/topical-indexes.html' title='Topical Indexes'/><author><name>E.S. May</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08522781342357484824</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
