live simply, love madly, make magic.
New series, five things, on Fridays. Here’s a story. Back when I was in college, I had this professor. He was a wild-haired writer, a child of another era. He wore tweed blazers and drove a little sports car. He was the first person to teach me about poetry, really teach me I mean. On…
in the evening, the crickets are singing again. august makes violins of their tiny legs. we throw open the windows at night to hear the symphony. there’s a sweetness on the air– a coolness too, that when inhaled, fills the body with all the promise of autumn. Those few lines of poetry popped into my…
This month’s prompt word is celebrate. Aside from the fact that I’ve been physically unable to spend time on my computer, it’s been difficult to even brainstorm for this prompt. I’ve been suffering and when you’re suffering, it’s hard to think about celebrating. Still, this set of photographs kept coming into my mind. I took…
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes,…
Poetry Friday is a feature that I run once in awhile. A long time ago — before I was a mother, before I was a wife — I was a poet. Poetry was the thing that got me through many of my darkest hours. Once in awhile I like to share poems here, but only…
“Untitled” by Rachel McKibbens To my daughters, I need to say: Go with the one who loves you biblically. The one whose love lifts its head to you despite its broken neck. Whose body bursts sixteen arms electric to carry you, gentle, the way old grief is gentle. Love the love that is messy in…
The Archipelago Of Kisses | Jeffrey McDaniel We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don’t grow on trees, like in the old days. So where does one find love? When you’re sixteen it’s easy, like being unleashed with a credit card in a department store of kisses. There’s the first kiss. The sloppy…
Burning Oneself In | Adrienne Rich In a bookstore on the East Side I read a veteran’s testimony: the running down for no reason of an old woman in South Vietnam by a U.S. Army truck The heat-wave is over Lifeless, sunny, the East Side rests under its awnings Another summer The flames go on…