Hope
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October ended in melancholy. I had been entertaining depression for at least a week, allowing him to raid my cupboards, sleep in my bed, run my life, and steal from my bank account. Melancholy, or depression, may be associated with the color blue, but I was running in the red in terms of hope and
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Although it feels like I’m cheating just posting a single haiku, of all the remaining unpublished poems from my 2019 The Guardian Photo of the Day collection, this one keeps calling for my attention. I’ve posted other poems that tackle the concept of hope, like Lisel Mueller’s Hope, and recommended many others, such as Dickinson’s
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All the images above come from The Guardian’s best photographs of the day posted on February 5, 2019, capturing moments of death, disaster, discontent, and division from England, Bangladesh, Canada, Paris, and the United States. Four years later, these atrocities continue to manifest all around the world, and those without a firm foundation and steady
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Today we revisited Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope” is the thing with feathers as we explored how metaphor helps us better understand the abstract concepts of life like love, joy, anger, and hope. Dickinson’s extended metaphor comparing hope to a bird always reminds me of the following poem by Lisel Mueller, where she expands that single
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Advent: December 23 By Vincent H. Anastasi 2022 Together we braved the cold – winter’s winds whipping your hair and my beard, our errand an echo of their journey pregnant with Hope.
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In the midst of my series of Advent Tankas, I still wanted to share this Mary Oliver gem that I read a few weeks ago thanks to an email thread I receive at work. Though the snows have already arrived here in Grove City, it’s not until Wednesday that Winter officially begins. As we head
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Advent: December 2 By Vincent H. Anastasi 2022(Inspired by Isaiah 29:17-27) But a little while out of the gloom and darkness the blind eyes will blaze deaf ears hear, the poor rejoice when Hope transmutes mortal flesh
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It’s not Wolf Creek, but it will have to do. If I could have had a decent camera with me a few Sundays ago as I floated down the creek that borders our property, staring up into the cerulean sky with only a few cumulus clouds floating by, then I could have captured the exact
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Sky brought a caterpillar to class. Shortly before my seventh period British Literature course began, Sky introduced me to her caterpillar (Fred, I believe she named him), a token from her lunch outside in the park. Rather than send her back outdoors to return the woolly bear to its rightful domain, I allowed her to
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I never expected to find this card in my mailbox last Wednesday. One of my colleagues had students write notes to teachers in the high school in honor of World Teachers’ Day. To be honest, I had no idea there was a World Teachers’ Day. I’m familiar with teacher appreciation week, but this was unexpected.
the deepening ground 