Hungry Eyes - Bridgette Bubble

Hungry eyes
Ready to please
Take me away
Simply at ease
Wild at heart
I feel their stare
Though I cannot see them
I know they are there

Karma - Ryan Delisle

You see a poor old woman sitting on the sidewalk.
Try not to listen but you hear her talk.
She asks politely to spare some change.
You have enough money and you say no, feel ashamed.
Keep walking down the street and you think some more.
Would she give you money if you were the poor?
Drive out of town the next day and crash into a ditch.
Just because karma is a ruthless bitch.

Untitled - Jonathan Davis

If I ever own a cafe I will place
one chair at each table.
When I have coffee, I want to drink alone.

Sitting with an empty chair across from me drives me insane.
It's breathing into the face of a world, a society, a foolish
expectation
that screams...

Screw you for not playing with people every moment of the day.
For not surrounding yourself with chatter.
For not commercializing every second of your life.
For not drinking your coffee in a crowd.

Being lonely no longer means that you want company.
It means not having someone else on your back
for any period longer than it takes you to shower.

It has become an introvert's nightmare,
an ocean of little orange fish all following each other.
That is why in my cafe the chairs are placed one to each table.

Walden in the Big Apple

At 7:30AM on March 22 Walden took two vans into New York City. Upon arriving and parking the vans around 2PM we walked to the Gershwin Hotel where we spent our nights and also conveniently located next to the Museum of Sex. We spent the afternoon walking through a drizzle around the Village and later sat down for a dinner of Indian cuisine. On the walk back to our hotel it poured rain. Rain coats and umbrella's made no difference, everyone was soaked.
By 10AM on Tuesday everyone was either at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the Natural History Museum. Three hours later we were on the subway headed for Little Russia in Brooklyn and Brighton Beach/Coney Island. Even though nothing was open on the boardwalk we walked out to the pier and looked back at Coney Island before it gets turned into condos. Later that evening we ventured into China Town via subway to find ourselves some dinner and delicious ice cream.
Wednesday was a bit windy but there was blue sky and the sun was shining. By 8:45AM we already walking our way to The High-Line. The High-Line is a raised park built on old train tracks used to bring dangerous trains off the streets. On our way to The High-Line we happened to pass by The Big Booty Bread Co. This prompted a few of us to stop on the street and play big booty in front of the bakery. By 5PM we were arriving back in Vergennes, VT. A successful Walden adventure to NYC!

Graveyard for Trees - Fiona Spencer

Ode to cold union of bark and scratch mark
To tangles of my hair to anxious branches
I’ve been here before, this graveyard of trees
I know you’re used for swing sets, for labyrinths for fauns and sometimes daggers
This risk is one I’m willing to take for I know the passage is dangerous
But if I pass and land somewhere among the shells of beechnuts
I will have found the much anticipated cocoon of my infancy
Like the daughter of the moon finding the last portal back to her underground home
I will leave traces of my time on earth, for those who know where to find them

Poetry - Madeline Delaney

This poem is not poetry

It cannot express everything that I feel

But it tries,

It tries to understand.

This poem is not classy

And you,

You will not be impressed

Because they are too young

And I,

I am too old to be excused.

This poem is honest

But it is far from the truth

And even I don’t know what that is,

The truth,

That is the truth.

This poem is not poetry

It is just an imitation

And though these words resemble rhythm

They cannot sing in tune

But this poem loves the sound of its lyrics

And the way they don’t always rhyme.

This poem is not poetry,

You are mimicry to me,

And I am not the person anyone thinks I am.

This poem is not an apology

But I hope you’ll forgive me

It’s not a regret

And I would never change its meaning.

This poem is not poetry,

It’s just a poem,

And you are just my muse,

But I will always love you more than this poem

This poem,

This poem is not poetry

This poem should not be about you

But it is.

This poem is not poetry

But I am.

Recent Visits

On Tuesday February 2, Walden visited Good New Garage in Burlington. We were showed the garage where they work on cars and were highly encouraged to do lots of volunteer work. We also got a quick tour of Bike Recycle Vermont, located right below GNG.

On Wednesday we had a great visitor Chris Kiely. Chris does work in oriental medicine and also teaches Tai Ji classes. Chris and Matt did a short Tai Ji demonstration although we were told that we couldn't experience it fully because most of what happens goes on inside not out.