All posts filed under: Poetry

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF BREATH

It isn’t the wear and tear of getting older even though it began over years and not days when I was still hiking mountains. Along with the occasional fire and stiffness in my knees and hips and neck I noticed that I could no longer […]

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IF I WERE….

    The Cinnamon Peeler Michael Ondaatje If I were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow. Your breasts and shoulders would reek you could never walk through markets without the profession of my fingers […]

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WITHOUT

  Another poem by Donald Hall.  Curiously enough, I have never enjoyed enjoyed his earlier poetry.  After he lost his wife, the poet Jane Kenyon, however…his poetry turned into something, into a heart that spoke to me, that I could understand.  I always return to […]

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THE WORLD I LIVE IN

  I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that. And anyway, what’s wrong with Maybe?   You wouldn’t believe what once or twice I have seen. I’ll just […]

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DANNY

  Danny was my stepfather.  March 15 marked six years since he died.  He and my mother had been divorced for some time when he left us for good, but I remained attached to him.  He was the first person to openly encourage me to […]

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I AM IN NEED OF MUSIC

I am in need of music that would flow Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to […]

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PROBLEM POEM

I started this two years ago, put it away, and have since dragged it back out to tinker with so I can include it in my thesis.  The line breaks still aren’t where/how I’d like them to be, and the 2nd stanza is not quite […]

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LOVE SONG

How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn’t touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn’t […]

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