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WILLIAM DORESKI
In the Weeping Basement			


Hydrostatic pressure squeezes
water through the concrete floor.
We mop and wring until power
fails and we're working in the dark. 
Flood has toppled a power pole,
blocking our usual route
to the grosser part of the world.
Downtown the river has crept
into parking lots and basements,
closing shops and inspiring ghosts
to rise from an old canal.
Luckily these ghosts fear to pass
over the sparking downed wires
and so avoid our neighborhood.
We huddle by the woodstove and count
the hours. The northeaster raves
in the treetops, a vast appetite. Water
bubbles through cracks in the floor
and spoils my old manuscripts
and a shelf of books on psychic
phenomena. We agree
to someday move to the desert.
With a jolt and hiss the power
renews itself, the sump pump groans.
Fluorescents rout the shadows,
and whatever spirits had arrived
retreat with crumpled little sighs.
Back in the weeping basement
you order me to place the towels
here and there, and in the harsh
but useful glare you resemble
Grendel's mother out for revenge.
After we finish mopping the mess
and stuff the towels in the dryer
we admit that the pressure
of water pulsing underground
frustrates and soothes with vitality
we ought to learn to emulate. 


poetryREPAIRs: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition - Oxford English Dictionary.
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YANA BERLIN
Wisdom Comes Slowly

EPIPHANY

Wisdom Comes Slowly

I find it absolutely amazing how the years change not only our physical and mental condition, but our personality, stamina and spunk.

Growing up, I was always a rebel. I argued, negotiated and partied, and if the opportunity to do something forbidden presented itself, I was always first in line to do it.

Proud of my rebellious nature, I remember making a promise to myself that when I become a parent I would never restrict my kids, never preach, and never demand anything of them. Ha! As soon as I become a parent I quickly turned into the biggest hypocrite on this planet, even before my children had a chance to grow into wild, hormone-filled teenagers.

Wanting to give the world to my children, I insisted on providing the environment I thought was imperative for them. Sure, they were allowed to make their own choices, as long as I defined the options they could choose from. Absolutely they could choose their own friends, as long as I approved of them. Getting bad grades was not an option, and if they did, the consequences would be swift, harsh and unfair. Who they wanted to be and what they wanted to major in was their choice. Which school they attended was mine (and my husband's).

Looking back at my experiences with friends and colleagues, I see myself being very judgmental and vocal -- it was my way or the highway. I had little patience when teaching coworkers, and no tolerance for stupidity. Sometimes I was painfully honest and hurt people along the way. I always had the best intentions, but I don't think my honesty made people feel any better.

I'm not too proud of the way I sometimes acted during my youth. Yet, I can honestly say that those years served as a stepping-stone to arrive at where I am today.

A Startling Epiphany

Recently, I wrote an article that I thought was phenomenal. It covered a topic I felt very passionate about, and it seemed like the time was right to share my thoughts with the world.

I sent the article to few of my friends and, to my surprise, received a very negative response across the board. As I read their comments, I became very defensive and even more judgmental. Who were they to question my opinion on this important subject? Couldn't they tell I was right? And besides, writing a blog on regular basis isn't easy. I don't see any of them doing it!

Feeling hurt and full of righteous indignation, I decided to publish the article anyway. Who cares what others would think or say? As I said earlier, my way or the highway! It was then (fortunately), that the years of experience kicked in.

As soon as I made my decision, I was overwhelmed with a foreign feeling. A little voice inside of me said to hold off on publishing the article. No particular reason; just don't do it. Puzzled by my reaction, I decided to take a cool shower and then go out for a walk. While walking, I mentally reviewed the article and reconsidered the constructive criticism offered by my friends. In doing so, I experienced a major epiphany.

I suddenly realized that understanding and recognizing my own faults would make me less critical of others. It became evident that I could achieve a lot more through tolerance and understanding, and that negative energy is always counter-productive. It's better to live life with a positive attitude and zest, and it's far more rewarding to give that opportunity to others and provide them with a positive environment to do the same.

I ended up tossing the article and began work on a different one instead. I have since come to realize that the little voice inside me was none other than the voice of maturity, which only arrives after years of experience. It still feels a bit like a stranger, but as time goes by I think we will become good friends.

My grandpa always said, "You have to go through years of being stupid until you become wise." I always believed him but I never thought it would take this long. So now I am wondering, does it take everyone 40+ years or am I just slow?

Oh well. I figure as long as I'm still learning and growing, I must be on the right track. And as the saying goes: "It's better late then never!"
---ABOUT YANA BERLIN---

Founder of http://www.Fabulously40.com: 'Join us as we embark on our journey to the best part of our lives.'


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ANJANA BASU
His Poem			


And though I knew she loved me
I told her she had cold eyes and left her.
Six o clock on a Holi evening
Under the lonely street lights
Between the scurrying feet of the passers-by
I met her with a garland of jasmine in my hand
She came in chiffon through the shadows
As expensive as her heart
And I gave her the flowers and said goodbye
But she touched me drawing fire
Her unkissed mouth falling open like a wild hibiscus
Six o clock on Holi evening
With the colours drying on the pavements
I said she was ice and she made me a fool
Under the streetlights between the walking shadows
Chiffon smearing red where it trailed
And though her eyes were warm
I lied and left her
With the flowers as tribute
To her expensive heart

---copyright ANJANA BASU. " His Poem " was previously published on poetryREpairs 02.01:004

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