Sentient in San Francisco – 4 June 2019

Contemporary Vietnamese/Spanish Art – Viet Ha Tran: Part I of II.

Below (photographs) – “Take me to your dreams Ophelia III”; “Morning Haze”; “The Golden Imprint.”

Musings in Spring: James Russell Lowell

“And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.”

Contemporary Vietnamese/Spanish Art – Viet Ha Tran: Part II of II.

Below (photographs) – “The blue morning”; “The Colors of Spring IX”; “The Lotus Woman.”

A Poem for Today

“Chernobyl Year”
by Jehanne Dubrow

We dreamed of glowing children,
their throats alive and cancerous,
their eyes like lightning in the dark.

We were uneasy in our skins,
sixth grade, a year for blowing up,
for learning that nothing contains

that heat which comes from growing,
the way our parents seemed at once
both tall as cooling towers and crushed

beneath the pressure of small things—
family dinners, the evening news,
the dead voice of the dial tone.

Even the ground was ticking.
The parts that grew grew poison.
Whatever we ate became a stone.

Whatever we said was love became
plutonium, became a spark
of panic in the buried world.


Contemporary American Art – Christy Powers: Part I of II.

Below – “Saturday morning cartoons”; “all night diner days”; “hanging at the secret spot”; “visiting the worlds fair”; “androgynous 90’s youth in a mall parking lot”; “Suburban scene.”

Musings in Spring: John Steinbeck

“In early June the world of leaf and blade and flowers explodes, and every sunset is different.”


Contemporary American Art – Christy Powers: Part II of II.

Below – “Weightless”; “I went running out into your yard”; “tv party”; “Out on the town”; “swimming hole”; “the day after”; “Wherever you go there you are.”

A Poem for Today

“How You Know”
by Joe Mills

‘How do you know if it’s love?’ she asks,
and I think if you have to ask, it’s not,
but I know this won’t help. I want to say
you’re too young to worry about it,
as if she has questions about Medicare
or social security, but this won’t help either.
“You’ll just know” is a lie, and one truth,
“when you still want to be with them
the next morning,” would involve too
many follow-up questions. The difficulty
with love, I want to say, is sometimes
you only know afterwards that it’s arrived
or left. Love is the elephant and we
are the blind mice unable to understand
the whole. I want to say love is this
desire to help even when I know I can’t,
just as I couldn’t explain electricity, stars,
the color of the sky, baldness, tornadoes,
fingernails, coconuts, or the other things
she has asked about over the years, all
those phenomena whose daily existence
seems miraculous. Instead I shake my head.
‘I don’t even know how to match my socks.
Go ask your mother.’ She laughs and says,
‘I did. Mom told me to come and ask you.’

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