I love this poem that appeared in the New York Times

The Good Survives

By Charles Harper Webb

Not the time Jane threw a coffeepot at Don,
but the time they swam with turtles in Puako Bay.

Not getting drunk and crashing your friend’s car,
but handing him your #20 Adams, that’s caught fish all day.

Not the father’s snarl and hissing belt —
the time he played catch for an hour, sick with flu.

Einstein intuited this law, but couldn’t prove it:
Not his mad son and ruined marriage — E = mc².

Not Colly Cibber — Dryden, Swift, and Pope.
Not Sweet Rebel Sword — Moby Dick.

If not in heaven, then in mind, Auschwitz evaporates;
the orchid’s purple stays. Not the boy drowned

in a backyard pool, the girl’s heart missing beats,
then lying still. The way she’d lift her arms up

from her crib, and say, “Kiss. Kiss.” The way he’d throw
open the bedroom door, and say, “Daddy, it’s day.”

Charles Harper Webb is an American poet, professor, psychotherapist and former singer and guitarist. His most recent poetry collection is Shadow Ball (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009).

It was a perfect day for a drive, sun out, top down, let’s visit a Hudson Valley winery.

Glorie Farm Winery is the sixth winery we have visited on the Shawangunk Wine Trail which winds through the Hudson River Valley from Warwick to New Paltz taking you to fourteen vineyards or wineries. Perched high on Mt. Zion Mountain in Marlboro, NY, this one offers great views and a comfortable place to enjoy their very good wine.

The farm is over 100 years old, Doug and his wife purchased it in 1979. Since then Doug, a former IBM engineer, has been perfecting his science of growing great fruit and making great wine. Read more of this story at New York Cork Report

On our way home from Hudson stopped by a bar I’ve been wanting to try for years.  Ever since my friend Tommy Eats gave it a rave review. The atmosphere on this Saturday afternoon was not what I hoped for, but who goes to a dark bar on a sunny afternoon anyway!  The cocktails as promised were awesome. Continue reading Afternoon Cocktails at Stockade Tavern

Back Yard by Carl Sandberg

Shine on, O moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.

An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion.
A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month;
to-night they are throwing you kisses.

An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a
cherry tree in his back yard.

The clocks say I must go—I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking
white thoughts you rain down.

Shine on, O moon,
Shake out more and more silver changes.

Carl August Sandburg was an American poet, writer, and editor who won three Pulitzer Prizes, two for his poetry and one for his biography of Abraham Lincoln.

It was a wondeful day!

“Let America Be America Again”

Written by Langston Hughes decades ago, this poem seems more relevant than ever.

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free. Continue reading Sunday Poem – Let America Be America Again