Yearly Archives: 2020

Rivers and What They Carry – Part One – River Poems and River Poem Sequences by Natalie Diaz and Catherine Owen

  Running the Rivers with N and C   — For Natalie Diaz and Catherine Owen How to write the unruly, the unsettled, words forever water, slipping past always and never, too quick for grief, too slow for regret, but you carry them, carry them, anyway. The beauty, beauty, carries them. Richard Osler, May 17th, […]

Patrick’s Poets – #4 in a Series – Linda Crosfield of Ootischenia, B.C.!

I Wish I Could Tell You, John Prine The time I saw you live you were opening for Arlo Guthrie but it was you I went to see. You played them all, your glorious songs, introduced an angel from Montgomery, showed us the tracks on a young vet’s arm, taught us a thing or two […]

The Great Gift of Women Poets – Another Poem in Memory of Eavan Boland (1944-2020)

Time and Violence The evening was the same as any other. I came out and stood on the step. The suburb was closed in the weather of an early spring and the shallow tips and washed out yellows of narcissi resisted dusk. And crocuses and snowdrops. I stood there and felt the melancholy of growing […]

Eavan Boland (Sept. 24th, 1944 – April 27th, 2020) – Your Poetic Marvels – Poems to grow Old In. To Die In. And Now Your Very Real Death – R.I.P.

A WOMAN PAINTED ON LEAF I found it among curios and silver in the pureness of wintry light. A woman painted on a leaf. Fine lines drawn on a veined surface in a hand-made frame. This is not my face. Neither did I draw it. A leaf falls in the garden. The moon cools its […]

A Look Inside the Surprising Heart and Mind of American Poet Carl Phillips – A Poem From His 2018 Collection Wild Is The Wind and One from His 2020 Collection, Pale Colours in a Tall Field

WHAT I SEE IS THE LIGHT FALLING ALL AROUND US To have understood some small piece of the world more deeply doesn’t have to mean we’re not as lost as before, or so it seems this morning, random bees stirring among the dogwood blossoms, a few here and there stirring differently somehow, more like resisting […]

For Now the Dunes Are [NOT] Sure – R.I.P. Glynn Irby, U.S. Gulf Coast Poet and Luminous Human

Imagi 31 In a ratcheting wind, salt grasses twist around November roots and the olive-hued saw palms throb against their crowns. For now, the dunes are sure. Yet, as sea-foam flashes white around their knees, the sand sinks with each tidal flow. Close offshore, waves rise from the flounder-gray Gulf and wind-driven crystals deflect into […]

An Invitation to Sink Down into a Poem and Overhear a Heck of a Healing Chat between the Titanic and American Poet and Performer Laura Brown-Lavoie

If I break a leg, I’ll go to a doctor. If I break my heart or if the world breaks my spirit, I will go to a poet…… The healing power of art is not a rhetorical fantasy… For some, music, for some, pictures, for me, primarily, poetry…..cuts through noise and hurt, opens the wound […]

For Easter Monday A Post from Easter Monday Six Years Ago! A God Who Eats Words – The Devotional poems of Adélia (Luzia) Prado (Freitas)

While writing a blog for today I came across a reference to the fabulous Brazilian poet Adélia Prado and then went searching for my blogs on her. And found this post from Easter Monday six years ago and thought too perfect, must use it again! Prado was acknowledged in 2014 with A Distinguished Lifetime Contribution […]

A Bewitchery of Words and Natural and Mythic Worlds – The New Poems of Nova Scotian Poet Anne Simpson

IN THE TEDIUM I go into days and nights, one after the other. A cup set down, a scraped chair. Outside, a coyote, tangled yelps. Moon, the way it lies on snow. Snakebite blue. I get up, stone. I sit down, stone. King of morning, noon, night. Eat each stone, spit it out. This is […]

Patrick’s Poets – #3 in a Series – Vancouver Island’s Mary Ann Moore

Only Child Even though I’m an only child, no one can remember what time I was born. Dad was sure it was midnight, he heard the whistle of the train going north. Aunt Valada said it was early morning, just after she saw the milkman on Princess Street. Mum couldn’t recall the time. She said […]