That second poem? Cummings. I pinned it down the other day, but haven't been able to post 'til now.

Fox News' Steve Centanni and Olaf Wiig are out of Gaza. No word yet on how this was accomplished, although BBC World's Anita McNaught, Olaf's wife, opened a televised news conference prior to the pair's arrival in Jerusalem by stating an obvious fact: they will never be able to acknowledge some players in the process.

It is good to be relieved for the sake of the families and employers involved -- and it's nice to hear some good news for a change.

Both journalists looked to be the picture of health. Pictures can be deceiving, though, and I hope they do both enjoy good health, get crucial rest and continue to find happiness in their pursuits.

How kidnappings, abductions and detentions, supply lines and funding sources play into a commitment to end terrorism remains a volatile issue. Figuring out how governments, non-government militias and fringe terrorist groups interact -- and who gets the guns and bread when, how and from whom -- are questions that brighter minds than mine must continue to try to address.

In the meantime, two guests at the Hotel Terror were able to check out. They did, indeed, leave.

Ah, love. Yeah, right. Sure.

Well, I did run into what I thought was poetry -- good poetry -- in my early teens.

The first belongs to e.e. cummings; I haven't yet made a trip to a library to find a source for the second one -- it may have been an original one of mine or a less well known e.e. cummings work. I'm betting it also belongs to cummings. From my handwriting on the pair of them, I'd guess I was in the seventh, eighth or ninth grade. (around the same time I was doing dozens of extremely naive haiku studies of trees)

First cummings' iconic work:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
then wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back into my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death I think is no parenthesis

e.e. cummings

And this one, of unknown parentage:

except in your
honour,
my loveliest,
nothing
may move may rest
-- you bring

(out of dark the
earth) a
procession of
wonders
huger than prove
our fears

were hopes: the moon
open
for you and close
will shy
wings of because;
each why

of star (afloat
on not
quite less than all
of time)
gives you skillful
his flame

so is your heart
alert,
of languages
there's none
but well she knows;
and can

perfectly speak
(snowflake
and rainbow mind
and soul
november and
april)

who younger than
begin
are, in the worlds move
in your
(and rest, my love)
honour

P.S. Please let me know if you'd like me to publish emailed & snail-mailed lists. Comments on this blog are public right now, so post gently, but I'd be delighted to get some feedback from any semi to fully literate readers. I cherish the bandwidth this blog takes up, and I'd like to think kindly of anyone who might post, too.

We'll see if I can even keep the links current on this puppy, let alone bang out prose for it. I'm in reporting-and-writing-for-a-real-live-paper mode, in my home state of Pennsylvania. But I'll tell ya something. I really, very badly need some Christmas lists from folks. I don't know if my immediate family tries to keep up with what I write, but I'm begging them, in particular, to send their lists to me -- one way or another. And it'd be fun to check out what all of you clowns who have looked at this blog like -- just in case I ever win the lottery. It's gonna be another homemade Christmas this year, one way or another, but it helps to know what you guys are diggin'.