The Invitation
Something is between us -the eye of a needle, a bitter pill, too many miles on sad macadam. You …
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Too Cold
It is difficult to keep faith in green – grass, leaves, moss, even frogs. Snow covered ground yields no place to plant …
Protected: Wagon Train
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My Poet For The Day
I will be reading and listening to Anne Sexton’s poetry today. Here are a couple of links if you are …
Howling At The Moon
What are the wolves really saying deep in the forested night? Are they baying in wonder …
Miracle Flight
Maybe it is nothing, just geese heading South. Or it may be a miracle. How did it come to …
Listening
Seals bark on the rocks, dash madly through surf, leap, breathe, dive; can they feel it, is there such a …
The Bird
The bird pinwheels with haphazard grace, falls, weighted with buckshot – the first in a long line of killing. Not …
Firestorm
Wildflowers and bloodroot bloom in a firestorm of Spring release. The undercurrent of leafing in meadows and woods draws the …
Postcard From Up North
Snow is still falling. Trees hang over fences like rodeo clowns at the end of the day. Under columns …
Poetry on the run 