Poetry Friday
Ten Years When the mind is clearand the surface of the now still,now swaying water slaps againstthe rolling kayak, I find myself near darkness,paddling again to Yellow Island. Every spring wildflowerscover the grey… Continue reading
Ten Years When the mind is clearand the surface of the now still,now swaying water slaps againstthe rolling kayak, I find myself near darkness,paddling again to Yellow Island. Every spring wildflowerscover the grey… Continue reading
I have a small grain of hope–one small crystal that gleamsclear colors out of transparency.I need more.I break off a fragmentto send to you.Please takethis grain of a grain of hopeso that mine… Continue reading
A prayer for when we have come to the end of our own resources We struggle, we grow weary, we growtired.We are exhausted, we are distressed, we despair.We give up, we fall down,… Continue reading
The late writer, AA Gill, once wrote of poetry: By some internal magic, poetry hovers above the page, over the words. It happens outside the black-and-white lines, as if the writing were clairvoyant,… Continue reading