<p>In 1978, Ralph Dranow and Daniel Marlin met while working at the Oakland (CA) main post office. They hit it off immediately, finding a common passion for writing and concern for social justice. Their nascent friendship took root on the level of deep mutual caring as well as support for each other's writing. And in time, they formed a writing group that lasted 38 years until Dan's death in 2017, and continues today with new members.</p><p><br></p><p>This book is both a testament to the remarkable, incisive writing of Dan Marlin by his best friend, Ralph, and an opportunity for readers to taste the riches of this friendship through the poetry of both writers, Ralph being an equally remarkable poet (though with a different flavor). Sometimes their subjects converge, and other times they follow their own unique paths. But in all cases, readers are in for a moving feast for the mind, heart, and moral spirit.</p><p><br></p><p>A central thread linking the poems of these two close friends is a sense of compassion for all living beings, especially those easily overlooked, the vulnerable ones, often existing on the margins of society, animals as well as human beings. Humor frequently makes an appearance in these poems, reminding us that life also has its lighter side. Dan Marlin was an accomplished artist who created many vibrant paintings and drawings-some of which appear in this book. This quality of vibrancy is evident in his poems, as well, with his rich imagery and precise details, leaving his readers and listeners with indelible impressions. Ralph Dranow is a close observer of people, and his poems often express the subtle beauty of ordinary human beings. Most of all, the poems in this book pulsate with life, reflecting the joy, wonder, and pain of being alive on this earth.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p><strong>To Be Human</strong></p><p>Forgive me not</p><p>the Angel begged,</p><p>I've brought you no loaves</p><p>of bread,</p><p>no honey, not even a single</p><p>soul.</p><p><br></p><p>My shoes have turned to</p><p>dust,</p><p>my hat to sand,</p><p>the heaven gold in my pocket</p><p>is become but ash</p><p>in the wind,</p><p>and my wings</p><p>melted</p><p>in one small glance</p><p>of your sun!</p><p><br></p><p>Good,</p><p>answered God-</p><p>now you know, perhaps</p><p>a little,</p><p>what it means</p><p>to be</p><p>human.</p><p><br></p><p>-Daniel Marlin</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p><strong>Cocoon</strong></p><p>Only a short distance</p><p>From the bustle and chatter,</p><p>The serious business of recreation</p><p>At the Hawaii Hilton Hotel,</p><p>Naomi and I lie in a hammock</p><p>On a balmy winter night</p><p>Glittering with stars</p><p>And a full moon.</p><p>As we gently sway,</p><p>Our bodies sing,</p><p>Surrender to night's embrace,</p><p>The wind licking our faces.</p><p>We revel in our island of silence,</p><p>Our silken cocoon,</p><p>And the untrammeled sky</p><p>Winking at us,</p><p>Trembling with light.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>-Ralph Dranow </p>