Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
There’s more than one way to write a poem. Folks often feel intimidated about how to write poetry—I get it; I’ve been there. But Art journaling offers a way to venture into expressing oneself with words and pictures both and thus create a poem, a made thing, (the definition of poem from the Greek word poiema)….
How it Began The first poems I ever saved are from Mrs. Appy’s Ninth grade English class in a folder labeled simply ‘Poetry.’ 50 years later I can’t for the life of me locate it but I can see its contents–the ditto ink is faded but still quite legible. There are selections by Richard Brautigan and…
To listen to me read this poem, click HERE. I am the map, I will show you the way Landmarks, sideroads, the places you’ll stay. Then moving slowly, aware of the limits Of speed that are posted; this journey stay in it. I’ll reveal the direction, post signs that you need Aware…
Frequency There was always a tune in the heart of God A song that He sang over us. The melody came with a note from above A chorus from the Father of love. But the tune met resistance-titanium, stone Even water that blocked all the notes. Was everyone drowning, message nullified, absorbed? Perhaps the enchantment…
Monet’s Haystacks (or On Keeping at It) Monet painted haystacks one by one from 1890 to ’91, In all kinds of weather, Spring through Fall, Summer and winter he painted them all. Twenty-five haystacks—that’s a lot of paint But he simply kept going, this artistic saint. He prayed with his brushes and oils and such…
Complaints are afoot in certain close quarters That my poems don’t rhyme, they’re merely imposters. The grandchildren ask me, “Is that how you write one? I’m not really sure, Nana, your kind’s the right one.” “There’re no matching endings, really no reasoning. It’s like eating roast beef without any seasoning. Tasteless and boring, and lacking…
I Am From I am from doughboy pools and homemade Barbie housesfrom Huffy bikes and Helms Bakery donuts.I am from three sisters to a room and broad green bermuda lawns.I am from bright sandy beaches and weeping willowswhose drooping green sheltered me from California’s sun.I am from Coppertone and Sun-Infrom Helen and Wes and John.I am…
Dear Kind Readers, as you may know (and for those who are new here–welcome!) my second book of poetry, Mining the Bright Birds: Poems of Longing for Home found a publishing home earlier this year at a small press in Oregon. I wrote about the background of the book in June (three months have flown…
Last fall when the sky was cobalt blue and leaves were brilliant, flaming shades of amber and maroon (as they are wont to be here in the Pacific Northwest) I stole away for an overnight writing retreat. My goal was to cobble together a year’s worth of poetry that hadn’t seen the light of day…
The Daily News “They came out of the tombs and after Jesus’ resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.” -Matthew 27:52,53 There it was buried, just a short paragraph News so astounding I wanted to laugh. I’d never read it, but this time ‘twas clear Hundreds of people once dead…