Category Archives: Writing

If I, for fifteen minutes every day, assign myself to write a bit of prose, I think I’ll find I have some things to say, for doing leads to noting. I’ll compose a quarter hour worth of text a night, … Continue reading →

This pen’s a stick of charcoal in my hand. I sweep in strokes across a page of lined buff paper, spiral-bound and pale as sand, or shade with tiny smudges. All I find outside commuting windows or beyond my walking … Continue reading →

I didn’t notice pyracantha leaves until I tried to fit them in a line of poetry. I know the fruit achieves by fermentation autumn sparrow wine, but till I looked at leaves to make a song I never saw how … Continue reading →

Reviewing verse I wrote when I was young, the feet uneven and the tenor brass, I skimmed what didn’t scan: a toddler tongue in stammer; my conceit as green as grass. I understood what made my lover groan when I … Continue reading →

Transmitting 50 pages through the mail, I thought he’d send opinion back to me, but too much time has passed — his comments pale before they exit him. And what of she, my oldest friend? A careful letter sent to … Continue reading →

She’s hunting in the language of her birth, encompassing the landscape with a view to catch the drama of the rolling earth, the heat of rampant life, its form and hue. Invoking wings for ankles made of clay, detecting roots … Continue reading →

I’ve been at this artistic discipline at least two thousand days now, don’t you know? And I can find and read and groan or grin at poetry I wrote five years ago. Except I never want to see the stuff … Continue reading →

A listener in search of everywhere a word is spoken honestly and well, could make a pilgrimage to find the fair infrequent truth of speech, and in its spell that listener might engineer a song, might link realities with spoken … Continue reading →

At end of day, the mania asserts itself again, and she’s compelled to glean the world of words. She casts about and flirts with phrases till conceit emerges clean enough to take its form upon the page. And then she … Continue reading →