There is something about Monday. The lists, the hope, the ambition, the anticipation, and then everything is closed, or actually just a few things, and all that junk food left from the holidays, the wine bottle that you couldn’t open because the cork broke, and you are just tired for some reason. Everyone needs a …
It’s too late for my poor husbands, but let me spare you some of their grief, because in their search for that elusive metaphor, poets can be somewhat “eccentric.” If you date a poet, everyone will think you are the person they are writing about. You will be the person they are writing about. (unless …
Listen to your poem until its voice appears like a streetlight against a night sky. Let it sit like a Buddha in a garden, asking you to wonder by. Ask your poem its sign, knowing it will be perfectly in tune. Tell your poem its future, knowing It will find true love and travel soon. …
You’ve lost your memory And you say the sea buries Your dead Your memory’s Your last thoughts The redemption The joy that passes understanding Stolen moments Forgotten And every 7 days The world reinvented And you take it literally I suppose Because who has a heart as generous and pliable as the sea God and …
It may sound romantic, but in search of that elusive metaphor, poets can be somewhat “eccentric.” If you date a poet everyone will think you are the jerk they are writing about. You will be the jerk they are writing about. They have an unnatural affection for book stores and office supply stores. They have …
The rising tide 