Tree branches remember leaves they once held. Moon remembers its path across the sky. Clouds remember what it is like to disappear. Grass remembers green and always returns to it. The pen remembers ink it once held and how that ink has turned into words. Words remember what they were before they were thought. Cup remembers the silence of being empty. Table … More MEMORY – by guest poet, Penny Hackett-Evans
Oh, dear poet, love and care for your little patch of woods that touches you with inspiration, nourishes your earth-soul Thank you for leaving the leaves untouched where the smallest of the ones I love build safe habitats – worms and crickets, beetles and bees, vole and chipmunk, too Squirrels whose antics entertain you, birds … More Tera, a Wood Elf
I usually prefer short poemswith their bright burst of enlightenmentlike finger-of-god sun raysthat suddenly pierce the clouds But I savor your longer poemsthat touch me from years and miles awayas a growing dawn developing into a sunburstthat I should have expectedbut always find me surprised For more on Billy Collins, check out his page on … More For Billy
In writing a poem I am the absence of the poem When I write words more words fill in the spaces between those written words This is one reason why I write to see where I am not any more so that new words, new combinations of sounds can reveal themselves to a metamorphosing me … More The Alchemy of Art
“Hey, Nashville” he called to me. He lifted a large hand in greeting as we met to walk into the shelter together. I had mentioned on previous visits that Nashville was my home town. He had lived there for a while after his first stint in the Michigan state penitentiary and this had given us … More Thawing Frost
When I was a child I wrote like a child In cursive Now I’m a poet I write like a poet In ideas In patterns In rhythms No fences No syntax I’ll never get an A in writing When valued by perfect formation, Adherence to rules So maybe I’ll write in pink Half cursive, half … More Biblical Playgerism
I heard the family approach before I saw them, the lilt of their Hindi phrasing interspersed with soft laughter. I was on a boardwalk trying to photograph a tuft of new grass growing in wetland mud. Green shoots reached through a tee-pee of the brittle beige remains of its predecessors. I evaluated several angles for … More Poet’s Heart
Wind Rush 