St. Francis and the Sow – Galway Kinnell The bud stands for all things, even those things that don’t flower, for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Galway Kinnell
Greetings, those of you living in the tropics of southeastern Minnesota! I’ll be speaking at four different libraries this week. Tuesday, Jan. 21, 3:30 p.m., Blooming Prairie Public Library and 7 pm, Northfield Public Library. Wednesday, Jan. 22, evening, Plainview Public Library. And Thursday, Jan. 23, 6:30 p.m., Spring Grove Public Library. Fear not the … Continue reading Library appearances this coming week!
Homeschooled – Marianne Kunkel The Nazis? Learned of them in comic books. Titanic? Heard of it when I mistook the film for a rom-com on a cruise ship— glued to my friend’s TV as she skinny-dipped with a lawn boy, I wondered what the hell else my parents wouldn’t tell. Six-by-eight cells, she later said, … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Marianne Kunkel
How Strange, How Sweet – Joshua Mehigan This was a butcher. This, a Chinese laundry. This was a Schrafft’s with 10-cent custard ice creams. Off toward the park, that was the new St. Saviour. Then, for five blocks, not much but chain-link fences. These foolish things, here today, gone today, yesterday, forty years ago, tomorrow. … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Joshua Mehigan
The Snow Man, by Wallace Stevens One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Wallace Stevens
your own PDK for writing
a collection of beautiful words.....
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
“My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” ~ Sharon Doubiago
The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
