Finally, I’m worried

On this New Year’s Eve,  here’s a “worry poem” I wrote back in 2008. I’m worried about other things this year:  my divided country at the top of the list. But here’s this one anyway: Finally, I’m worried   I’m worried about Petunias. The ten year old seeds stewing in my windowbox peat seed starter

almost at twilight

  On this snowy morning, here’s   a summer birdwatching poem I wrote many years ago. It appears in my book “Life List.”   At Fort Clifton Park, Colonial Heights Virginia   We walked the boardwalk through the little swamp almost at twilight almost at closing time for the nature preserve. In the quiet sudden flash

Cozy Apologia

Here’s an appropriate poem which uses the word of the day. It’s by American poet Rita Dove: Cozy Apologia By Rita Dove For Fred I could pick anything and think of you— This lamp, the wind-still rain, the glossy blue My pen exudes, drying matte, upon the page. I could choose any hero, any cause

I must confess

Here is a wonderful poem by contemporary poet Marisa de los Santos:     Perfect Dress     It’s here in a student’s journal, a blue confession in smudged, erasable ink: “I can’t stop hoping I’ll wake up, suddenly beautiful,” and isn’t it strange how we want it, despite all we know? To be at

five years torn down

  Here’s a poem I wrote about 20 years ago. It appears in my first book, At the Year’s Elbow:   Irrevocable   I sing of the lost things that cannot be found, the tiny key to the file, the slides of the building that’s five years torn down, the photo of the woman ten

under miraculous skies

Here is a wonderful poem for this time of year:   Christmas Poem                           by G. K. Chesterton There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand, Grew a

little silent Christmas tree

    I love this poem by the unique American poet e e cummings:   [little tree]               By E. E. Cummings     little tree   little silent Christmas tree   you are so little   you are more like a flower     who found you in the green forest   and were you

A Meager Portion

Here’s a lovely piece of a poem by Fiona Sampson:     from “Coleshill” by Fiona Sampson: The violin’s back is not veneer— the strummed wood shudders together. Undivided by caution each note is its own first thought. My first thought’s a kind of prayer that I might resonate entire— sometimes it’s such a meager

Licked Clean By Cattle

Here’s a poem I wrote about a legend I saw depicted in a stained glass window in the church in Buglose, France:   The Legend of Our Lady of Buglose   In the upper half of the stained glass window, ten farmers, housewives, and a curate, with their 1620 clothes, look at each other and

The Theory of the Beautiful

    I’ve had a lot of skin cancer removed over the last twenty years.  And this year I am turning seventy.  In Western culture,  an old face is probably not a beautiful one. Here is a poem – or at least the draft of a poem- I am writing about it. The Theory of