12.28.2009
I've Tried Flint and Steel and Sulphur and Sunlight and Lenses and Gunpowder and Dry Wood and Straw and Concentrating Really Hard
But still nothing. No spark; no words come. With no other real option open to me, I'm going to take some time off from poetry, just until the words return. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know your favorite poem; I'm always glad to read new things, and there's no balm for the blocked pen quite like a good poem.
Stay well, friends. I'll be back.
12.15.2009
First Night By the Baby Monitor
12.08.2009
Interlude: Other People's Poetry
Starlings in Winter
Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
-Mary Oliver
photograph by Jipps
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