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Tag Archives: april poetry month
If you never have anything you don’t know what there was to lose… my children know, though they do as they most surely knew love and warm dinners and cracked smiles and laughter as long as the days grown wild … Continue reading
The Daughter Land Map It shows everything and nothing the terrain steep–so much to climb through in hardly enough space to breathe there are rocks and cliffs and a river somewhere on a distant valley floor. Did I bring the … Continue reading
We meet in my office alone not too long, just long enough there are children to discuss and the taxi-ing of children to various places to various things i do not hate him if i can look at him, his … Continue reading
We are all lied to, my love mostly by ourselves we tell ourselves stories in which to wallow in which to cave in which to concede that is how we found ourselves today you with an unfinished assignment me with … Continue reading
” We have been wounded by it (giving)” –Alberto Rios Giving: What it Takes My car door slammer, my you-don’t-get-it-you’re-too-old, my you-should-be-home-making-cookies my you-promised-me-you-guys-wouldn’t-split-till-i-was-out-of-the-house My Daughter. Full of intensity and scowl Full of cat eyes and hoop earrings Looking for … Continue reading
Poetry is Possibility: Memoir-izing the day and Dwelling in the senses of the aftermath of living this moment to the next. This idea that words mean something new when arranged differently specifically on a page.
Holding on to Joy No, no, no– Nuh-uh. In this moment. This singular moment when my heart is singing when my mind is made up of everything I can give— When my voice has found an ear and my ear … Continue reading
Lassen Yard My Mondays are full up now with men in (a different kind of) blue Swapping words & stories about the outside the barbed wire world my someday writers my pen stealers I look forward to the long drive … Continue reading
Yay! It’s national poetry month! Here’s my first offering of the month. A Tanka for Easter We sit on the couch before twilight–a Sunday of drives, of history, of lock eyed hunger and thoughts ever drifting, ever new.