"Head, Heart" by Lydia Davis

In honor of National Poetry Month, I am sharing exquisite poems by talented poets each Wednesday. I present "Head, Heart" by Lydia Davis, short story writer, novelist, and translator. She captures a profound state of human existence using what could be Muppets. This short, mind-bogglingly concise poem encapsulates the push and the pull of it all...and you know what I mean.

Head, Heart
by Lydia Davis

Heart weeps.
Head tries to help heart.
Head tells heart how it is, again:
You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday.
Heart feels better, then.
But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart.
Heart is so new to this.
I want them back, says heart.
Head is all heart has.
Help, head. Help heart.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lydia_Davis

R.I.P. Ushio Amagatsu

The news was just released today of the Match 25th, 2024 death of Ushio Amagatsu, legendary choreographer and founder of the Butoh dance troupe Sankai Juku. Butoh is the singular Japanese dance form developed after the horrors of World War II characterized by extremely expressive and often frightening or grotesque gestures (like the "Silent Scream"), white full-body paint, and very slow movements.

Amagatsu founded Sankai Juku in 1975 and introduced Butoh to the Western world, using highly otherworldly costumes, sets, and original music. Since 1982 all of Sankai Juku's works were premiered at and co-produced by Théâtre de la Ville, Paris. Over the years, I had the honor of seeing two, incredible, haunting full productions in which they performed, among other pieces, Kagemi, Hibiki, and Yuragi. I was utterly mesmerized and shaken for many days after.

R.I.P. Ushio Amagatsu. Thank you for manifesting such a profound and ferocious physical expression into this world.

https://www.sankaijuku.com/?lang=en

The Poetry of Rock n' Roll: "Europa and the Pirate Twins"

To observe National Poetry Month, once a week I am featuring lyrics of rock n' roll or pop songs that also double as exquisite poetry.

If you were alive in the early 80s, I am sure you could not have missed hearing synthesizer whiz Thomas Dolby's near-novelty song "She Blinded Me With Science," taken from his debut release "The Golden Age of Wireless," an album steeped in a retro WWII feeling in both narrative (look at the title alone!) and imagery. However, the opening track on the US release far outshines "She Blinded Me With Science." This song, "Europa and the Pirate Twins" is an entire lifetime of a story condensed down to three verses and a chorus. It is the moving story of two young people in love and how they are tragically torn apart. Dolby has described the song to the now-defunct webzine Drowned In Sound, along with the tone of the album, as reflecting "a sense of relationship that's going on as being overwhelmed by something on a grander level", adding "there's a very strong wartime atmosphere to it."

Europa and the Pirate Twins
by Thomas Dolby

I was fourteen, she was twelve
Father travelled, hers as well, Europa...
Down the beaches, hand in hand
Twelfth of never on the sand
Then war took her away
We swore a vow that day

We'll be the Pirate Twins again, Europa
Oh my country
Europa
I'll walk beside you in the rain
Europa
Ta république
Europa

Nine years after, who'd I see
On the cover of a magazine? Europa...
Buy her singles and see all her films
Paste her pictures on my windowsill
But that's not quite the same - it isn't, is it?
Europa, my old friend

We'll be the Pirate Twins again, Europa
Oh my country
My country, Europa!
I'll walk beside you in the rain
Europa
Ta république
Europa

Blew in from the hoverport
She was back in London
Pushed past the papermen
Calling her name
She smiled for the cameras
As the bodyguard grabbed me
Her eyes were gone forever
As they drove her away

We'll be the Pirate Twins again, Europa
Oh my country
Europa
I'll walk beside you in the rain
Europa
Ta république
Europa

https://www.thomasdolby.com/

Day of (NO) Silence 2024

From GLSEN's site:

Day of (No) Silence 2024: Rise Up. Take Action.

History of Day of Silence: Started in the mid 90’s by two college students, Day of Silence has expanded to reach hundreds of thousands of students each year. Every April, students would go through the school day without speaking, ending the day with Breaking the Silence rallies to bring attention to ways their schools and communities can become more inclusive.

2024 Day of (No) Silence: With more than 800 anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced last year, we must Rise Up and Take Action. GLSEN’s Day of NO Silence is a nationally-recognized student-led demonstration where LGBTQ+ students and allies all around the country—and the world— protest the harmful effects of harassment and discrimination of LGBTQ+ people in schools.

I am not sure how many high school or middle school students stop by "Oh, By The Way," but if you are a student, please consider joining the Day of (NO) Silence today. And if you are an adult who knows a teen, especially a gay teen, who might benefit from this, please pass it along. The event is also observed on college campuses. We are under attack and can use all the voices we can get.

https://www.glsen.org/dayofnosilence

"I'm Ready"

To honor National Poetry Month, I am sharing some of my work each Friday. This piece speaks to an aspect of life that none of us like to think about...an aspect that cannot be controlled, of accidents and pain, an aspect that makes us live through things, against our will, things we think we cannot endure. But we must, and we do. These things are "life" as much as any other aspect.

I'm Ready

I need to talk about
the sick feeling
when the child
comes in contact
with the front of my
car
making a dull thud
like a ripe melon,
his face turned toward me
and full of horror,
looking through the glass,
his eyes pleading,
“Why
are you doing this
to me?”,
his pitiful body
thrown from the
small bicycle
like a rag doll,
as though it were a thing of no
consequence.
In that moment
when these two
things collide,
the air gives up
a shudder
like a thunderclap
and, like a train
de-railing,
the course of life,
even the orbit of
the planet is
irreversibly
altered
forever.
Like a glass
tottering, rocking
at the edge,
then free falling,
hovering for one
brilliant second
to sparkle,
to mock
your distance,
your inability to save,
he was too far away.
The fabric unravels.
The tracks are far behind.
I need to tell you,
I couldn’t stop it.
Now I understand:
if I have to
back into a corner
crying, blindly pulling
finger after finger--
if I have to
lie on a gurney
gulping solid air
while doctors search
for ways to
let me breathe--
if I have to be
sutured without
anesthetic--
then do it.
If I must hit
seven year old boys
with my car--
if this is the way
things must be, then
I’m ready.
I’ll grip the wheel harder.
I’ll bite down on my tongue.
Go ahead and do it.
And I will
tell about it.

©JEF 1992

"Book of Statues" by Richie Hofmann

In honor of National Poetry Month, I am sharing exquisite poems by talented poets each Wednesday. This poem of awakening but also loss of innocence touches me deeply. I recall all too well when Matthew Shepard was tortured and murdered...I was 34. As this poem references, Shepard's death became a symbol for gay men everywhere that the world continues to be a dangerous place for us.

Hofmann says:
"I was eleven years old when Matthew Shepard was murdered in 1998; he died on the twelfth of October. Around the same time, I was working on a school project on Italian Renaissance sculptures, so many of which depict male nudes. These two events are linked in my mind, as I think it was the first time I began to glimpse the costs of being a body that desires."

Book of Statues
by Richie Hofmann

Because I am a boy, the untouchability of beauty
is my subject already, the book of statues
open in my lap, the middle of October, leaves
foiling the wet ground
in soft copper. "A statue
must be beautiful
from all sides," Cellini wrote in 1558.
When I close the book,
the bodies touch. In the west,
they are tying a boy to a fence and leaving him to die,
his face unrecognizable behind a mask
of blood. His body, icon
of loss, growing meaningful
against his will.

Richie Hofmann - Photo by Marcus Jackson

https://www.richiehofmann.com/

The Poetry of Rock n' Roll: "Socrates The Python"

To observe National Poetry Month, once a week I am featuring lyrics of rock n' roll or pop songs that also double as exquisite poetry.

For our second installment of The Poetry of Rock n' Roll, let's examine the lyrics to a song by Peter Murphy, Godfather of Goth, singer-songwriter, and former frontman for legendary group Bauhaus. "Socrates The Python" is not about a snake, but about the issues of our age stemming from a disconnect with the spirit. But not an abstract spirit...a spirit that asks us to be involved, a spirit that offers knowledge and not blind belief as a way to enlightenment. It's a profound idea...one where he name checks the mystic and philosopher Gurdjieff along with one of Gurdjieff's disciples J.G. Bennett in a sort of incantation, pitting the idea of self-discovery and self exploration against the head-in-the-sand perspective of much of organized religions.

Socrates The Python

by Peter Murphy

Today
Your problems are not
Of blind belief
That is or means
Belief ain't enough, belief ain't enough
The oracle of your age
Point towards the word
Psychological

You may freeze
You may fear
You may wince
And not hear
You can sick at the heart
When I say
"God is one"
Does God the word
Make you reel
And I mean, real

But it isn't God the father son or holy one,
But the key to your age
Get it together, and listen
With all the books
On the shelf
All the wisdom
With all the books
On the shelf
All the wisdom

Socrates, Pythagoras
Yin and bloody Yang
Hatha Yoga, Omm
Bennett, Gurdjieff, Jesus
Old Testament and New
Libraries full of keys
Libraries full of keys
Where's your lock?

Socrates Pythagoras
Yin and bloody Yang
Hatha Yoga, Omm
Bennett, Gurdjieff, Jesus
Old Testament and New
Libraries full of keys
Libraries full of keys

Bennett, Gurdjieff, Jesus
Bennett, Gurdjieff, Jesus

https://www.petermurphy.info/

"A Map Is A Lie"

In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be posting work by myself each Friday. This is a new piece about the idea that, despite what we may think and perceive, there are no clear dividing lines, no real boundaries in this world.

A Map Is A Lie

The simple blue crease like a vein on the skin of the ground
scribes the course of water, stark against the white of the paper,
but my foot sinks to the ankle in a slurry of mud and green slime.
Water covers the bottom third of soggy tree trunks,
pools of algae swirled into larger pools of decay clinging to bark.
The map can’t show how the winter storms exhaled oceans of water to recarve and swell
the path, and the map can’t describe the spot where the armored crayfish
wandered from its world into ours, the world of the map, where it stood on the road
(shown as a black scratch labelled “Fire Access”), frozen in valiant battle pose,
holding claws aloft against me, to repel and frighten the unfathomable giant,
but is now a crunched red stain on asphalt, smeared by unfathomable tires.
The map can’t show it was foolish or driven or careless or simply too adventurous
for its kind, just an unlucky explorer. The map can only incise
a sharp line between elements, blue water-white ground-black road,
the cartographer’s need to paralyze a living breathing shifting mantle,
a fixed idea pinned in shape and place, a lie.
It can’t show the mutable spongey zone of neither earth nor water,
the permeable membranes, everything flowing between states,
the crayfish, me, you, from one side to the other.

©JEF 2024

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith and "Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye

For National Poetry Month, I will be sharing exquisite poems by talented poets each Wednesday. And I am going to start us with two stunning poems: first up is "Good Bones" by poet Maggie Smith (not the actress), a touching, thoughtful poem that speaks to the instinct to protect but also to the power of the possibilities of life itself.

Good Bones
by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

Maggie Smith | Photo by Devon Albeit

https://maggiesmithpoet.com/

Here is a poem that takes this idea of the possibility of making this place beautiful, and gives a roadmap to it. The journey is not easy but it is the only journey worth taking. Here is "Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye.

Kindness
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

https://www.instagram.com/naomishihabnye

The Poetry of Rock n' Roll: "The Letter" by Kristin Hersh

To observe National Poetry Month, every Monday I will be featuring lyrics of rock n' roll or pop songs that also double as exquisite poetry.

For our first installment of The Poetry of Rock n' Roll, I want to share a very underrated artist. Singer-songwriter Kristin Hersh has always been very upfront about her bouts with mental illness and this incredibly visceral poem-song is clearly a record of struggling through a traumatic episode. "The Letter" is from her 1994 debut solo release "Hips and Makers." I don't embed videos of songs for this series because I want the focus to be on the words. But do yourself a favor with this one: go find the music for this and listen to how Hersh musically manifests this event...the remarkable tension and anxiety living within the rhythm and the cyclical guitar leave you breathless. It's extraordinary.

The Letter
by Kristin Hersh

September 29, 1984
Dear so and so
Gather me up because I'm lost
Or I'm back where I started from
I'm crawling on the floor rolling on the ground
I might cry
I won't go home
So here's the story
I am turning up in circles
And I'm spinning on my knuckles
Don't forget that there are circles left undone very close to me
Forgive me comfort me
I'm crawling on the floor rolling on the ground
There's a blanket wrapped around my head
I'm moving in a line that's shaped like this
I'm holding in my breath
I have a room
Can you tell if I am lying
Don't forget that I'm living inside the space where walls and floor meet
A box inside my chest
An animal stuffed with my frustration
Can you hear me?
Don't forget that I'm alone when you're away
You make me act like other people do forgive me
Comfort me

You comfort me

You make me die
I'm gonna cry

I won't go home
Don't kill the god of sadness
Just don't let her get you down
See the man inside a book I read can't handle his own head
So what the hell am I supposed to do?
I'd like to know how he died
My hands are shaking don't you love me anymore
I only need a person keep my shoulders
Stand around lie down move your hand above the floor
Gather me up because I'm lost
Or I'm back where I started from
Crawling on the floor rolling on the ground
I'm gonna cry you look for me
Love Kristin
P.S. keep them coming

https://www.kristinhersh.com/

Happy National Poetry Month 2024!

April is National Poetry Month, sponsored by the Academy of American Poets since 1996. And this year marks the celebration's 28th anniversary! Over the years, it has become the largest literary celebration in the world with schools, publishers, libraries, booksellers, and poets celebrating poetry’s vital place in our culture.

How to celebrate?
- Read your favorite poet again.
- Read some new poetry.
- Find a new favorite poet.
- Write some poetry.
- Leave poems for people to find in public places.
- Read poetry out loud to family and friends.
- Dream a poem.

Throughout April, I'll be posting poems, some by me, some by others, as well as a series of lyrics to popular songs that double as exquisite poetry.

And this year, Poem in Your Pocket Day is April 27th! Every April, on Poem in Your Pocket Day, people celebrate by selecting a poem, carrying it with them, and sharing it with others throughout the day at schools, bookstores, libraries, parks, workplaces, and on social media using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

Poem in Your Pocket Day was originally initiated in 2002 by the Office of the Mayor, in partnership with the New York City Departments of Cultural Affairs and Education, as part of the city’s National Poetry Month celebration. In 2008, the Academy of American Poets took the initiative to all fifty United States, encouraging individuals around the country to join in and channel their inner bard. In 2016, the League of Canadian Poets extended Poem in Your Pocket Day to Canada.

Happy National Poetry Month!

To kick off the month, here is an incredibly inspiring quote from Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky.

"When I speak of poetry I am not thinking of it as a genre. Poetry is an awareness of the world, a particular way of relating to reality. So poetry becomes a philosophy to guide a man throughout his life."

Amen to that.

https://poets.org/

Happy Easter 2024!

Easter developed from the Old English word Ēastre or Ēostre, derived from the Anglo-Saxon Pagan month of Eostur-monath (which roughly corresponds to our month of April). This month was named after the goddess Ēostre or Ostara who symbolized the dawn, spring, renewal, and rebirth of the earth after the long winter.

Now we celebrate by decorating eggs, a symbol of birth and fertility and new growth, and with chocolate rabbits, since bunnies are also a symbol of spring.

When I was little, I always loved Easter time because my grandmother displayed vases of daffodils and lilies, and panoramic sugar eggs around the house. And my aunt hollowed out eggs, cut a window in the side of the shell, and painstakingly assembled pastoral scenes inside using miniature trees and flowers, and tiny ceramic rabbits to make literal panoramic eggs. But the best part was the Easter Bunny who came to deliver beautifully dyed and decorated eggs in a basket full of chocolate and treats; my mom and dad would guide me through the house with clues as to where the Easter Bunny hid my basket (thanks Mom and Dad--I miss you)!

I hope the Easter Bunny brought you some treats! Happy Easter!

BEAUTY: Watercolor For Easter--Lucy at Craftberry Bush

For Easter, I am inspired by these lyrical hand-painted watercolor florals on craft eggs, created by Lucy over at Craftberry Bush. I love the way the loose, watery medium works on an unexpected surface like an egg.

https://www.craftberrybush.com/2021/03/watercolor-flowers-hand-painted-easter-eggs.html

Bunnies To The Rescue 2024

Regular long-time readers know this is a very special time of year for me...I always say that if you want to see a grown man turn into a squealing five-year old boy, show me bunnies. I ADORE them...

BEAUTY: Sculpture For Easter--Georgia Gerber

It's that time of the year again, when a young man's fancy turns to bunnies...and the beautiful work of sculptor Georgia Gerber beckons one to feel the amazing smoothness of her bronze rabbits.

For more animals, to see into her studio, and to learn about the incredible process of creating bronze sculptures, visit her website!
https://georgiagerber.com/

Naturally Dyed Easter Eggs

From thekitchn.com | Photo: Vicky Wasik ; Prop Stylist: Maya Borrero

Link to the original article at thekitchn.com:
https://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-make-vibrant-naturally-dyed-easter-eggs-holiday-projects-from-the-kitchn-112957

Egg Moon

"Wanderer" by Angelo De Augustine

Wow, this is slowly squeezing my heart..."Wanderer" by Angelo De Augustine.

Wanderer
Just like a song
That's been rubbed out above your left arm
Full of light
Eager eyes
For the adventure of a lifetime

She's on the run
Who you running from?
It can't be me cause I'm no one
Turtle dove
Carried my love
And left it on the moon to shine

I'll try
My best to find some peace of mind
But the light fades to black
And you don't know where the exit is at

Wanderer
Labyrinthine fern
Planted in your dilated mind
Evil talk
Heaven above
Protect her in her darkest night

https://angelodeaugustine.com/

"Some Type Of Skin" by Aurora

Aurora sings the big, anthemic "Some Type Of Skin" in which she realizes she must build a way to protect herself. As someone who lives life on the verge of tears because, well *looks all around at the whole world, pointing to it all*, I too often need some extra skin so the storms and stress can't penetrate. Or at least can't get as far in. Because, MY GOD IT'S A LOT.

Hit me hard where I am soft
Should my heart reveal itself to be
More than a muscle
Or a fist covered in blood
However much it feels to bleed
It's only temporary
We're good people and we both deserve peace
(Peace)

My God! It's a lot
(I build some type of skin)
(I've got to build some type of skin)
My God! It's a lot
(I build some type of skin)
(I've got to build some type of skin)

I guess I should build some type of skin
And let breath bе air
And love the things I know might disappear
And thе last light of the sun (Sun)
I let it slow me down
I'll crawl where everybody runs
We're good people
And we deserve peace
It's difficult, it seems

My God! It's a lot
(I build some type of skin)
(I've got to build some type of skin)
My God! It's a lot
(I build some type of skin)
My God!
(I've got to build some type of skin)
My God! It's a lot
(I build some type of skin)
(I've got to build some type of skin)
It's a lot
It's a lot
My God! It's a lot
It's a lot, a lot to me
To me

https://www.aurora-music.com

"Andrew" by Ben Platt

Here is the beautiful, touching song "Andrew" by Ben Platt. The innocence, the yearning, the naïveté, the heartbreak. It is weightier for us. For so many reasons. Even with more acceptance and changes in attitudes toward LGBTQ+ issues... it is still different.

His hair falls in cool careless waves without trying
Goes days without crying
But still treats me kind
And it's not his fault, all the sleep I've been losing
The way that I'm ruined

One look in his eyes and I'm gone
Helplessly dumb
My senses go numb
My brain is on fire
They say wanting someone is supposed to be fun
That's because they never loved an Andrew

Honey, I know there's no one to blame
But honestly, damn you
It's just a cruel joke that chemicals play
You don't wanna kiss me, 'cause I'm not at all
Likе the girls in the posters that hang on your wall
What a timе wasting heartbreak to fall
For an Andrew
Oh-oh-oh

He floats through the air unaware of the damage
A hard right of passage for soft-hearted boys
He smiles like a friend, puts his hand on my shoulder
If I can't get closer, then I am destroyed

And I'm gone
Helplessly dumb
My senses go numb
My brain is on fire
They just can't understand why it hurts me so bad
That's because they've never had an Andrew

Honey, I know there's no one to blame
But honestly, damn you
It's just a cruel joke that chemicals play
You don't wanna kiss me, 'cause I'm not at all
Like the girls in the posters that hang on your wall
What a time wasting heartbreak to fall
For an Andrew

What a time wasting, sweet happiness-taking
Self-esteem, mess-making
Heart-breaking shame
Wanna hold your hand, and be more of a man
Like your world falls apart for me or stays the same
'Cause you're
Andrew

Honey, I know there's no one to blame
But honestly, damn you
It's just a cruel joke that chemicals play
You don't wanna kiss me, 'cause I'm not at all
Like the girls in the posters that hang on your wall
Wish that I'd never met you at all
Sorry, Andrew
Oh-oh-oh

https://www.benplattmusic.com/

BEAUTY: Sculpture--Jan Vogelpoel

Australian sculptor Jan Vogelpoel works in clay to realize some fantastic biomorphic forms. She says she is inspired both by Japanese and Mid-Century Modern design. In addition to sculptures, she also creates lighting, vases, framed wall tiles, and in the last two images below, multi-piece relief wall sculptures.

Pieces are for sale! Visit her website.
https://www.janvogelpoelceramics.com/

Happy Spring Equinox 2024!

Happy Spring Equinox!

At 8:06 P.M. Pacific time, it is the first day of spring. The day and night are of equal length...perfect symmetry.

St. Joseph's Bread 2024

I come from a large Italian family. My great grandmother arrived in the United States on the SS Europa in 1910 to marry a man whose family came from the same village she just left. By the time I came along in 1964, she lived with her son and daughter-in-law and as you can imagine, was already quite old and hard of hearing (a problem that runs in our family). When I visited, she would be sitting at an enormous oak table in the front room, a soap opera blasting from the television, playing solitaire. Although she spoke English, she retained a very heavy Italian accent and would lapse into Italian whenever she was excited or frustrated. And I never saw her in anything but plain black or dark dresses, the kind…well, the kind immigrant women wore in the twenties.

She was of course a Roman Catholic and brought with her all sorts of feast days, observations, and traditions. But the most delicious feast day for us was that of Saint Joseph. There is a special kind of bread that is baked only on this day, Saint Joseph’s Bread or Panne di San Guiseppe. It is tender and sumptuous, more like cake but not sweet, more on the savory side. It was a treat everyone in the family looked forward to all year. I don’t know how many loaves my great grandmother would make but every family got one--she would bake all day and then walk to each home to deliver them in person...so today is the feast day of St. Joseph, the day when she would have delivered these treats.

Anise seed (a very traditional Italian spice that shows up in many national and regional dishes) is what gives this bread a subtle taste. Some traditional recipes call for the addition of golden raisins, but I will say that my great-grandmother never added them. While I am in no way religious (although I am a mystic at heart, which is very different!), I still enjoy this delicious bread.

St. Joseph's Day Bread

5 lb. flour
2 Tbs. salt
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 tbs. baking powder
2 tbs. anise seed
Combine these ingredients in a large bowl
Work in 1 1/4 cups vegetable shortening

In another bowl combine:
4 1/2 cups warm water
3 pkgs. of yeast or 3 tbs. of yeast
Dissolve yeast in warm water
Add 5 eggs, beaten

Add liquid ingredients to flour and shortening mixture. Mix well and knead on floured surface. Place in greased bowl and allow to rise until double in size. Punch down and let rise another hour.

Shape into small round loaves (should yield around 5), and let rise for 30 minutes. Traditionally, the loaves were small and could be made in the shape of a cross, bambino (baby), heart, beard, crown, or staff in honor St. Joseph.

Brush loaves with beaten egg and sprinkle with sesame and poppy seeds. Bake at 350* for 30 minutes or until golden brown. Cool.

3.17.24

I'll have a boxty and a Guinness...

Top to bottom: St. Mary's Old Parish graveyard, Cahir, Ireland; Roadside sign, Cahir, Ireland; Ben Bulben mountain from Drumcliffe, Ireland; St. Columba's Church, Drumcliffe, Ireland; grave of W.B. Yeats, St. Columba's Church, Drumcliffe, Ireland; Giant's Causeway sign, County Antrim, Northern Ireland; Giant's Causeway sign, County Antrim, Northern Ireland; Giant's Causeway, County Antrim, Northern Ireland; basalt columns at Giant's Causeway, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

All photos above by JEF


"Belfast Child" by Simple Minds
When my love said to me
Meet me down by the gallow tree
For it's sad news I bring
About this old town and all that it's suffering
Some say troubles abound
Some day soon they're gonna pull the old town down
One day we'll return here
When the Belfast Child sings again

Brothers, sisters, where are you now?
As I look for you right through the crowd
All my life here I've spent
With my faith in God, and Church, and the Government
But there's sadness abound
Some day soon they're gonna pull the old town down

One day we'll return here
When the Belfast Child sings again
When the Belfast Child sings again

So come back Billy, won't you come on home?
Come back Mary, you've been away so long
The streets are empty, and your mother's gone
The girls are crying, it's been oh so long
And your father's calling, come on home
Won't you come on home, won't you come on home?

Come back people, you've been gone a while
And the war is raging through the Emerald Isle
That's flesh and blood man, that's flesh and blood
All the girls are crying but all's not lost

The streets are empty, the streets are cold
Won't you come on home, won't you come on home?

The streets are empty

Life goes on

One day we'll return here
When the Belfast Child sings again
When the Belfast Child sings again

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