In my dream my grandfather was there and I thought this is the last time I will see my grandfather and then he was gone flickering between a photo and a living, breathing grandfather and in the street a wake… Read More ›
Poetry
Inauguration day
At the very end of January the light is always the same. Though the sky’s cold and gray, the clouds balled-up fists, the calendar adds a square each day, a few more minutes of sun before it swings on a… Read More ›
Interview with Western Slope Poet Laureate | Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Today I get to share one of the writers who’s inspired me most over the past year, through her commitment to a daily writing practice, and living an artful life. Enjoy this interview with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, and follow her… Read More ›
‘There is a light that never goes out’
I lay in a hot bath but the seal in the stopper leaked and the water went down (and I with it, too): and once under- neath the tub I looked up at a light the shape of a ring coming… Read More ›
Part of the earth froze and we with it too
Those flattened-down fronds and tree limbs too, the holes in our road frozen over, and in our yard this morning the little birds stir for what little food they can—like us, their lives held together by such small things.
A hot bath with David Bowie’s last record
At their height the veins in these hands looked like power cords, like ridge lines on the moon pumping blood from the heart to the fingers, swollen blue but now, more summertime worms scarcely seen, dried up, bloodless: there, it… Read More ›
Guest post by poet Rick Subber
Today I’m pleased to feature a poem by Rick Subber, a writing mentor of mine, dear friend, and fellow blogger. I hope you’ll check out Rick’s blog for smart, light-hearted but deep insights and enjoy his piece here “Nova.” Nova… Read More ›
If the world could be a sweater and I could try it on before buying it
Bit by bit he watched all the iPods, phones, and tablets come back ashore, come back to the store with their cords and their cases, and he put them in a box in the back to be picked up on… Read More ›
Record lows prose, mid-December blues
I think the iPod gave up the ghost tonight. Outside after dark in the garden beds peeing how quiet and cold, so dry and cold, it’s like every individual hair in my nose feels it and quivers, it’s like all… Read More ›
Birth rights
Perhaps it was on that day I was very small, I decided what I wanted to be. There was a small satisfaction in that, a place to sit and fit. And we all need that. I remember they were happy… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 