• Thoughts & Quotes

    A Reminder

    HOW TO BE A POET // Wendell Berry Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill — more of each than you have — inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it.…

  • Web Design

    Jane De Cuir Website Design

    Out of the blue, I got an email from Jane, saying that a mutual musician friend of ours (the magical Patrice Haan) had recommended me as a website designer. And since I love working with creative clients, I dove right into making something fresh and modern for her. Jane’s roots are in her father’s favorites—Louis Jordan, Sarah Vaughan, and Gene Krupa. Her music has evolved through the decades to form her personal blend, so from one song to the next, Jane’s music moves from light jazz to heavy blues and her lyrics range from playful to the deeply spiritual. You can see why I had fun! www.JaneDeCuir.com

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    As Sewing is to Torn

    As Sewing is to Torn – Adrienne Asher We mend the world, our every choice a stitch in the rough bark of life. Our hopes embroider our beginnings, and look—our hands are opening into birds within some lyric tree of sound. This is all meant for worship—our beating hearts and shouted silences leaf out into a forest filled with restoration for us all.   Photo: Hannah Streefkerk’s installation at Land Art Biënnale 2010 – Valkenswaard, Netherlands

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    Malheur Before Dawn

    Malheur Before Dawn — William Stafford An owl sound wandered along the road with me, I didn’t hear it–I breathed it into my ears.. Little ones at first, the stars retired, leaving polished little circles on the sky for a while. Then the sun began to shout from below the horizon. Throngs of birds campaigned, their music a tent of sound. From across a pond, out of the mist, one drake made a V and said its name. Some vast animal of air began to rouse from the reeds and lean outward. Frogs discovered their national anthem again. I didn’t know a ditch could hold so much joy. So magic…

  • Thoughts & Quotes

    Nneka McGuire Quote

    Poetry requires something of us. It isn’t unintelligible. But it isn’t always easy, either. Often, it insists on patience; it pushes us toward a second or third reading. Poems are distilled stories — they’re full of potent imagery with little context, ideas without an excess of explanation. -Nneka McGuire

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    Paris (on the burning of Notre Dame)

    Paris – Willa Cather Behind the arch of glory sets the day; The river lies in curves of silver light, The Fields Elysian glitter in a spray Of golden dust; the gilded dome is bright, The towers of Notre Dame cut clean and gray The evening sky, and pale from left to right A hundred bridges leap from either quay. Pillared with pride, the city of delight Sits like an empress by her silver Seine, Heavy with jewels, all her splendid dower Flashing upon her, won from shore and main By shock of combat, sacked from town and tower. Wherever men have builded hall or fane Red war hath gleaned…

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    Relax

    Relax by Ellen Bass Bad things are going to happen. Your tomatoes will grow a fungus and your cat will get run over. Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream melting in the car and throw your blue cashmere sweater in the drier. Your husband will sleep with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling out of her blouse. Or your wife will remember she’s a lesbian and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat– the one you never really liked–will contract a disease that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth every four hours. Your parents will die. No matter how many…

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    Poetry Month

    Into My Private Silence // Adrienne Asher Into my private silence I throw crows and branches, moon’s rising, bleached summer hills. There is a reason some say she’s a poet; it’s not what you think. At the center of all things is a spark. Brief and bright, it starts the song, moves the dance, unfurls words, splashes color. Its quick whisper shimmers just below the surface, sudden as a raven’s laugh, swift as an overflowing stream. Understand, I do not catch it, lucky even if I catch a glimpse. But still, she is my elusive muse: the glimmer at the heart of life.