Aaron Smith
speaker
2,298 appearances
12 recordings
2 series
first heard May 2026
last heard 25 Aug
Aaron Smith’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 12 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 4.
Appearances
He may have thought it proof he was a clever trader.
Although if the sky were sky blue as today, the sunlight's flash through bright glass would have been magnificent.
And that might have had tremendous value in another culture.
In another language, Minuit's a division of the day.
I've divided my days among a host of places near the sea.
I get a lot of comfort when I walk a beach or through the narrow streets among a crush of traders, sand in my shoes, sand of the Castle Clinton courtyard, where all of New York turned out of yore to see the Jacksons, Andrew and his wife.
He'd whipped the bloody British in the town of New Orleans and massacred the Creeks.
His steely eyes, as blue as western skies, saw the space I see.
he breathed the same air there's a little part of him and me that wants to drive away the savages who populate the dark expanse beyond the porch light's reach it takes a trail of tears to teach that neighborhood improvement's not the point
May the breath I draw become a balm to soothe the exiled people of all times and lands, the Cherokee, the Jew, the people of Tibet whose loss brought us abundant wisdom, the Kulak and the Sioux, the lover I abandoned and the friends I drove away, the difficult and friendless kicked out by their family, their school, their church, their boss, their spouse, who found them too impossible to put up with for one more minute.
In this park, their refuge, I divide my time and feed it to the world when I exhale like bread for ducks.
It's not a fantasy of power, and it's not about the rediscovery of arcane treasure from a better place, quieter and more romantic, like Tara in the days of kings or in the antebellum south.
It's about the light that permeates the sky above the boathouse where the sloop for hire is moored.
One romantic night, it sailed across the harbor with my love and me aboard.
We drank champagne and trailed our fingers to the surface of the oil and water stew that buoyed us.
When we grew apart, the two halves of a single wake that break on banks across the dark expanse of river from each other, I chose rage to hold my sorrow's head beneath the waves until I couldn't feel it anymore.
Though somewhere under driftwood littered slips or in the trash strewn slime a fathom down, I knew that it was hiding.
May the breath I draw become a healing touch to ease the pain I caused him and to speed the light that passed between and threw us on to its next stop.
Here I divide my heart among the teenage couples and the shy or clandestine romantics from the big law firms who nuzzle on a bench and queens in stained Kiana shirts who cruise between the slabs of stone with names of boys who died in World War II.
May it soothe my father, who couldn't say how very much he loved his wife and all the tongue-tied men.
Showing 641–660 of 2,298 · page 33 of 115
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