Yearly Archives: 2021

In Spite of 9/11 and Other Catastrophes We Must Still Sing – A Reflection on Patrick Lane’s Poem – Small Elegy for New York

Small Elegy for New York A small bird sings in the apple tree today where the fruit hangs heavy in the heat. The harvest is still weeks away. He sings to leaves to shelter him, that there be flowers, nests, and seeds, that the sky he knows will always be the sky. In New York […]

The Itinerant Sea-Sight Seeker Xiao Yue Shan – Two Ocean Shores (Japanese and Canadian) in Twenty Days – and now the Winner (Announced Today) of Tupelo Press’s 2021 Berkshire Prize

I write poems…to say grace. Xiao Yue Shan from Minutes, Sea-Sight Journal Day Nineteen, June 29th, 2021 from her website shellyshan.com the ocean is a gateway, a gentleness that contains and understands rage. almost fata morgana. the water is the ink by which the story of the land may be written. memory that may be projected […]

Short-Listed for Canadian Griffin Prize Shortlist 2021 – Yusef Saadi – Words are His Pleasure

Pleasuring Shahrazad In rosewater I rinse my final words, dip them into your body. Your slow, saline drip on my tongue. You eclipse Medinan dates soaked in honey, saffron rice with diced pistachios, a single pomegranate— surah carved in Kufic on each ruby seed. Camphor recites its being inside a kerosene lamp. Don’t plead, simply […]

What Will Not Let Me Forget – A Personal Story of a Poem and Synchronicity (Meaningful Coincidence)

In a series of synchronistic events a poem I wrote has come back to me more than thirty years after I wrote it and almost twenty years since I had disavowed it and forgotten it! I had forgotten that a dear friend, Sarah Wilson, copied out the poem in her distinctive and wonderful script with […]

My Story – Transforming Anger into Action Close to Home – What To Do About “Unsustainable Logging”? How To Turn “Things or Objects” into Nouns We Care For?

“If I choose not to become attached to nouns – a person, place or thing – then when I refuse a intimate’s love or hoard my spirit, when a known landscape is bought, sold and developed, chained or grazed to stubble, or a hawk is shot and hung by its feet on a barbed wire […]

S (Reprise and Surprise) is for Sotelo – Watching Men and Women Performing Their Wounds – Poems from VIRGIN by Analicia Sotelo

Private Property In this minor emergency of the self, We drink to become confused, To swim in the dark like idiot fish. This is a lake at night in a forest. This is where we look up at the stains In the sky and someone says, It’s purpling out here, And someone else says, Someone […]

S is for Spriggs – Two Get-Me-Every-Time Poems by the American Poet Bianca Lynne Spriggs

What Women Are Made Of There are many kinds of open. — Audre Lorde We are all ventricle, spine, lung, larynx, and gut. Clavicle and nape, what lies forked in an open palm; we are follicle and temple. We are ankle, arch, sole. Pore and rib, pelvis and root and tongue. We are wishbone and gland […]

T is for Thesen (and Gallant) – The Wig-Maker – A Remarkable Collaboration – Truth-Telling, Poetry, Healing

from The Neighbour My dad was such a liar.       It was all about perception, I had to be a refined lady             I never carried myself like a slut, not even nail polish. I was perfect.       I fooled them all, to the point where I fooled myself.             I was fictitious. I wore […]

U is for Uppal – R.I.P. 1974-2018 – Gone Far too Soon!

  To A Future Reader I beg you, tell me the words I left ended up funny, gave you guffaws as the planet went all to hell in ways I was not sad enough to imagine. Ave Atque Vale Farewell Priscila Uppal from Ontological Necessities, Exile Editions, 2006 This kind of takes my breath away. […]

V is for Vasquez (Gilliland) – A Journey Home to Find Where Healing Lives: In “Tales from the House of Vasquez”

The Tale of Postpartum The doctor is ancient and I don’t think she can hear me when I say, my columna verterbral is on the outside now. She asks, do you like caring for the baby? I nod. Yes, I love caring for the baby. And then I whisper. But how long can a woman […]