October 8, 2017 – 5:16 pm
from home it takes a broken person to come searching for meaning between my legs it takes a complete.whole. perfectly designed person to survive it… Rupi Kaur from the sun and her flowers, Simon & Schuster, 2017 To call twenty-five year old Indo-Canadian poet Rupi Kaur a sensation is an understatement! Her book of poems, […]
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October 5, 2017 – 7:51 pm
Lost Inside Henry VIII’s Chapel Finally, I find you, my little one, on your knees, before an altar, penitent, pilgrim – your palms pressed close as pages. I drop down beside you, my palms mimicking yours. I don’t say anything out loud. To whom were you praying? To whom can I pray? Is it ever […]
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September 24, 2017 – 8:02 pm
Magdalene: The Woman Taken in Adultery Teacher, they said to Jesus, The Law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say? –John 8:5 You know how it is when your speeding car spins on the ice at night and you think here it is? When the deer spring across the headlights? When you […]
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September 19, 2017 – 4:20 pm
‘I feel, like Beckett, that all poetry is prayer.’ Carol Ann Duffy from an interview with Jeanette Winterson, www.jeanettewinterson.com. I have never separated the writing of poetry from prayer. I have grown up believing it is a vocation, a religious vocation. Derek Walcott from The Paris Review, The Art of Poetry No. 37, 1986 I […]
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September 17, 2017 – 2:40 pm
I have been a fan of Amber Tamblyn since I read her 2012 poetry collection Bang Ditto. Her razor sharp eye combined with a wizardry for image and metaphor. But I took her even more seriously after reading Dark Sparkler her brutal poetic expose of the imagined inner lives of female actors who died far […]
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September 16, 2017 – 11:36 am
Hunger Games I crave grief for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sweet grief, salted grief, I want so much To swallow you whole. I’m a damn sinner Who can only be saved by your fingers. Hurry, place the sacred grief on my tongue And consecrate breakfast, lunch and dinner— Or maybe not. I wish I were […]
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September 4, 2017 – 11:31 pm
What Is Poetry The medieval town, with frieze Of boy scouts from Nagoya? The snow That came when we wanted it to snow? Beautiful images? Trying to avoid Ideas, as in this poem? But we Go back to them as to a wife, leaving The mistress we desire? Now they Will have to believe it […]
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September 2, 2017 – 10:49 pm
The Cucumbers of Praxilla of Sicyon What is the best we leave behind? Certainly love and form and ourselves. Surely those. But it is the mornings that are hard to relinquish, and music and cucumbers. Rain on trees, empty piazzas in small towns flooded with sun. What we are busy with doesn’t make us groan […]
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August 31, 2017 – 9:57 pm
WHAT THE SOUL WANTS A horse made out of rain (it doesn’t need a blacksmith). A fret of dragonflies, the thin gloss of their wings. A yellow bicycle. Outside the door a tall coffee can full of sand for the soul’s gritty habits. A place where trees are happy. How can you tell? It’s the […]
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August 30, 2017 – 10:31 am
from ON THE FLOOD PLAIN People have told us we built too near the lake “The flood plain is dangerous they said and no doubt they know more about it than we do — but here wind pressed down on new-formed ice trembles it like some just-invented musical instrument and that shrieking obligato to winter […]
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