My Special Cupboard

Am in a black jumper (sweater), with a big, stencilled, white zebra on it, and black leggings, inside, editing my thesis, on one of those English, still, white-sky days. But, fortunately for me, I have all these pretties ready to unleash over the Summer as soon as the weather picks up again:


(Excuse some of the models' expressions - we rarely need more of that in life. Please do imagine me writing this with a semi-crazed smile.)

Love the dramatic neckline and print. For some summer drinks.


Shopping...Although, it would have to be optimal (shame-free) conditions for me to keep the hat on.

Never sure about long shorts on women...very risky...but I might wear this to a casual day party.

For travels, however near.

Just 'cause.

Festival-going.


Swishy, swishy at a garden party.

Yep. All sorted. Thanks, special cupboard (stare, stare, honky laugh).

A Poem

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A while back, I started subscribing to the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-day emails. Today's poem was a nice wink. Thanks Tones!

I Have News for You
By Tony Hoagland

There are people who do not see a broken playground swing
as a symbol of ruined childhood

and there are people who don't interpret the behavior
of a fly in a motel room as a mocking representation of their thought process.

There are people who don't walk past an empty swimming pool
and think about past pleasures unrecoverable

and then stand there blocking the sidewalk for other pedestrians.
I have read about a town somewhere in California where human beings

do not send their sinuous feeder roots
deep into the potting soil of others' emotional lives

as if they were greedy six-year-olds
sucking the last half-inch of milkshake up through a noisy straw;

and other persons in the Midwest who can kiss without
debating the imperialist baggage of heterosexuality.

Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?
There are some people, unlike me and you,

who do not yearn after fame or love or quantities of money as
unattainable as that moon;
thus, they do not later
have to waste more time
defaming the object of their former ardor.

Or consequently run and crucify themselves
in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.

I have news for you—
there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room

and open a window to let the sweet breeze in
and let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.

Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty, published by Graywolf Press.