• Poetry & Other Writing

    The Days Pass, Heated

    I water wilting plants, consider how the seasons tilt in this new age we’ve made, unroll the hose, watch insects rushing to wet pools. I consider my back fence, the possums, squirrels, and feral cats, the raucous crows who use it, running through dense maple leaves. I consider thirst and buy a water fountain for them;it’s said in 30 years there will be food and water riots. My hands are scented with the urgent hopes of new-planted herbs.

  • Poetry & Other Writing

    Pablo Neruda

    The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are beesthat burned with sweetness or maddenedthe sting: the struggle continues,the journeys go and come between honey and pain.No, the net of years doesn’t unweave: there is no net.They don’t fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.Sleep doesn’t divide life into halves,or action, or silence, or honor;life is like a stone, a single motion,a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metalthat climbs or descends burning in your bones.

  • 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…

  • 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.