Nightclub by Billy Collins You are so beautiful and I am a fool to be in love with you is a theme that keeps coming up in songs and poems. There seems to be no room for variation. I have never heard anyone sing I am so beautiful and you are a fool to...
August retreats. It hands us back the year. Summer isn’t truth, but it is (as Harris Telemacher recites) “What we wish were true.” So many of us Shove out this Season of perspiration, lazily Forgetting how it Slows us Beguiles us Presses us to hold still Find the windy spaces With a friend In...
… we don’t know Anything about each other. Curving leaves Hidden roots One long dead Stem. How much Attention Does she need? Day 25, A River of Stones
Anger comes Nettle Under sock cuff. Minutes and hours Chopped in Food processor like Helpless almonds. Until I find My way cool again.
hose crawls through the holly bush coughing hot leftovers into a blue backyard lagoon Day 19, July, A River of Stones
Glassy days– Across the fields Crows can’t be bothered. Hot summer car rides Roads lounging into Forever. Windscreen winks at Passing clouds.
Private talkBetween campground showers“You need soap, Karen?”“I caught it!” “I brought a loofa.”Two women sighingOver water pleasure andFriends. Day 10, A River of Stones
Into the northwest On a thick summer Evening come Leaden skies Like a bad dream. Day 5, The River of Stones.
… layered and wilting into golden reds– You put Disney Princess blush To shame
small squares hold together life tiny reminders in brilliant hues– one thin strip of sticky soon wears away Day 3, A River of Stones
Penguin refrigerator, frog stove. Fisher Price merry go round With cranky plastic carnie– How they afforded it All cash then. No plastic. Day 2, July, A River of Stones.
All those hours, maybe wasted Spent instead –Blackness or blankness– Sorting memory// Organizing me. Day 1, July, A River of Stones.
I haven’t been posting as frequently lately. I don’t consider this writer’s block, though I once did. This is because I have been thinking. A Little Story Once I sign up for a pottery class. My friend, Rita, forced me. She berated me until I went. Fine, I said. I am not writing anyway....
Yesterday in class, my student Mike had clearly lost faith. I didn’t know why. But I could see that he was lost. I had asked the entire class to write for a page in response to the question: “Who are you in a group?” followed by “What do you fear about working in groups?”...
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