Writings, Reviews, Cultural Criticism
The category, Heart, is for posts that make us feel.
columbines betray last year’s scattering of seedby straying from the well-kept bed andspringing unruly from the lawni want to tear them out andbring order to my jealous yard maybe i should collect crystals andarrange them neatly on a shelf butthe suggestion prompts your laughterbursting through the spring air the columbines are beautiful withdowncast gaze and…
sometimes we desire what we cannot havebut unable to extinguish the desirewe fan ourselves into a roaring flame and so we rageand we flarebut consume nothing from thisgod utters forththe usual useless shit thenobedience comesnot from lovebut from its failure we draw on god’s teatlike sucklings on an ashen nub
I’ve recently had what might best be described as my very first mid-life moment. At the sober age of forty-four it feels as if I’ve been initiated into a secret fraternal organization — so secret in fact that I didn’t know it existed until I was qualified to join. My epiphany — if you want to call it that — arrived early in the morning last Saturday.
You’ve heard the old joke, right? What’s brown and sits on the piano bench? Beethoven’s second movement.
Going “off the Bloor Street viaduct” used to be a fairly common event. In his novel, In the Skin of the Lion, Michael Ondaatje imagines the first such going “off the Bloor Street viaduct.”
In addition to an Oscar-nominated film, “an education” is the title of life in my household this September. Both my kids are off to university and, to my delight and surprise, both are in liberal arts programs.
Every now and then I turn off my spam filters to see what are the latest trends. I’m always astonished at the number of male “enhancement” products. Viagra, cialis, aphrodisiacs & penis patches.
This is not so much a book review as it is a reflection which uses a book as its point of departure. Not All Violins is written by the Barb Wire Collective, a group of women who gave themselves this name as an affectionate nod to a mentor, Barbara Elliott…
My daughter is thirteen and Sunday June 4th is the date set for her confirmation. Traditionally, confirmation is a rite of passage, a transition from youth into a full and adult participation in the life of a church community.
About 12 years ago, someone suggested that I keep a journal. Since then, and in widely different contexts, several others have made the same recommendation. At first, I didn’t know where to begin. A blank page can be daunting. Should I fill it—like a daytimer—with the trivial details of my day-to-day living? Or should I gush with the intimate cares of my heart?
Toronto hosts the 3rd largest pride day in North America with over a million people flocking to the city over the weekend.