poets know you are tired.
Click here to listen to “you are tired (I think)” read by me You are tired, (I think) -e.e. cummings You are tired, (I think) Of the always puzzle of living and doing; And so am I. Come with me, then, And we’ll leave it far …
poets know the woman in the ordinary
The Woman in the Ordinary The woman in the ordinary pudgy downcast girl is crouching with eyes and muscles clenched. Round and pebble smooth she effaces herself under ripples of conversation and debate. The woman in the block of ivory soap has massive thighs that neigh, great breasts that blare …
poets urge us to join the circle of simple, passionate thusness
Only When I am Quiet and Do Not Speak Only when I am quiet for a long time and do not speak do the objects of my life draw near. Shy, the scissors and spoons, the blue mug. Hesitant even the towels, for all their intimate knowledge and scent of …
poets teach us about please
Our poemapalooza in celebration of National Poetry Month continues. The Word That Is A Prayer One thing you know when you say it: all over the earth people are saying it with you; a child blurting it out as the seizures take her, a woman reciting it on a cot …
poets know what we’ve come to.
My Life’s Calling -Deborah Digges My life’s calling, setting fires. Here in a hearth so huge I can stand inside and shove the wood around with my bare hands while church bells deal the hours down through the chimney. No more woodcutter, creel for the fire or architect, the five …
when did you stop being a poet?
April’s poemapalooza continues with Naomi Shihab Nye, one of my favorite poets, invoking William Stafford’s question: “When did you stop being a poet?” When, indeed?
Let the poemapalooza begin!
April is National Poetry Month. I know, I know. You don’t do poetry. You lost the urge for it when your English teacher made you beat it senseless. Come back to the word that captures a world. Each April I feature a poem every day …
poetry wednesday : in this hemisphere, we welcome Spring.
when faces called flowers float out of the ground when faces called flowers float out of the ground and breathing is wishing and wishing is having- but keeping is downward and doubting and never -it’s april (yes, april; my darling) it’s spring! yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as …
poetry wednesday.
Prayer Whatever happens. Whatever what is is is what I want. Only that. But that. –Galway Kinnell
