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Quote by Bremer Acosta

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Bremer Acosta

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“THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH The fountain of youth is found in the face of innocence. Where laughter is not forced but echoes freely from the heart. Where no tears are shed in vain. Where opportunity is desired without oppression. Where small hands mold big ideas. Drink Forever.”

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Book:My World In Words/ A Collection Of Tales Vol. 1 Compilation
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“He said I must pay special attention in cars. He wasn’t, he assured me, saying that I’d be in an accident but that for two weeks some particular caution was in order, &, he said, all I really needed to do was throw the white light of Alma around any car I entered & then I’d be fine. & when I asked about Alma, he said, Oh, come on, you know Alma well. You two were together first in Egypt & then at Stonehenge, & I nodded though I’ve never been— in this life at least—to Stonehenge; then I said, Shouldn’t I always throw the white light of Alma around a car? & when he said, Well, it wouldn’t hurt, I said, What about around planes, houses? What if I throw the white light of Alma around anyone who might need protection from the reckless speed of driving or the reckless swerve & skid of the world? & the psychic opened his hands & shrugged up his shoulders. So despite your doubt or mine as to why I’d gone there, to a psychic, in—I kid you not—a town of psychics—in the first place, right now, as you read this, let me throw the white light of Alma around you & everyone you pass close to today, beloved or stranger, the grocer, the bus driver, the boy on his longboard, the lady you stand silent beside in the elevator, & also I am throwing it around anyone they care about anywhere in the spin of the world, because, we can agree that these days, everywhere, particular caution is in order &, even if unverifiable, the light of my dear sister Alma, couldn’t hurt.”

PoetryPoemProtectionPredictionsPsychics
Author:Victoria Redel
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“Annunciation: Eve to Ave The wings behind the man I never saw. But often, afterward, I dreamed his lips, remembered the slight angle of his hips, his feet among the tulips and the straw. I liked the way his voice deepened as he called. As for the words, I liked the showmanship with which he spoke them. Behind him, distant ships went still; the water was smooth as his jaw— And when I learned that he was not a man— bullwhip, horsewhip, unzip, I could have crawled through thorn and bee, the thick of hive, rosehip, courtship, lordship, gossip and lavender. (But I was quiet, quiet as eagerness—that astonished, dutiful fall.)”

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Book:Incarnadine: Poems
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“Forget The honors handed out, the lists of winners. Forget the certificates, bright trophies you Could have, should have, maybe won. Remind yourself you never wanted them. When the spotlight briefly shone on you, You stepped back into darkness, Let the empty stage receive the light, The black floor suddenly less black— Scuff-marks, dust, blue tape—the cone Of light so perfect, slicing silently that perfect Silent darkness, and you, hidden in that wider dark, Your refusal a kind of gratitude at last.”

PoetryGratitudePoemModestySelflessness
Author:Jon Davis
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