Trailblazing
What is it you’re not seeing
when you’re only
looking up?
Love sometimes requires retreating,
backing up,
reversing the pace
that brought us into spaces
where nothing was ever comfortable,
no memory or seat we could share,
no reserve preserved for those worst hours,
I don’t know what you think of white, but tonight, I see azalea petals outdoing the dark, and I think,
You’ve come to grips with it: no one’s in the audience. Every day, you hear yourself, reverberating in the mic,
Open your notebook. Log the times you think you failed. Read it to the wind. -Katherine Gotthardt
This is my advice: slice the morning. Make wedges out of hours, minutes where you could be writing poetry. Carve
5 a.m. on a Sunday and I accidentally wake my husband. “Poetry piled up overnight,” I explain. He murmurs, “Death
If it wasn’t for the way early light met me on the street that morning, or the way April rain’s
Today, in the battlefield’s forest, Manassas gave us gifts: a stream for our dog to swim in, a wooden bridge
Four more Haiku forms from writing prompts on Twitter. The first three were written with Ukraine in mind. Praying for
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These are short pieces (mostly forms of Haiku) posted on Twitter. They are based on one-word writing prompts. Inexplicably, the
Four Short Spring Poems Read More »