for original writing of self and others
blessing the boats (at St. Mary’s) by Lucille Clifton Quilting: Poems 1987-1990 may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to…
Sparrows by Christopher Buckley from Dust Light, Leaves Like the poor, they are with us always . . . what they lack in beauty is theirs in good cheer—tails like pump handles lifting them first among songsters, chiding city light or roadside to evening’s praise. Gristmills, hardy gleaners, but for them the weeds and thorns…
When I was in college in my 20s at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville (commuting from my parents land), I was part of the editorial team for their literary magazine “Sou’wester.” My poem “Under Mama’s Yew Tree” (later published in “Sightlines: A Poet’s Diary”) was given some very encouraging words from Galway Kinnell. Because of…
The Avalanche Linda Hogan Savings Just last month the avalanches like good women were headed for a downfall. I saw one throw back her head and let go of the world. No more free soup bones for that one. No more faces of friends at the door with doilies and lace, with ivory charms carved…
Vegetable Love in Texas by Carol Coffee Reposa Texas Poetry Calendar: 2008 Farmers say There are two things Money can’t buy: Love and homegrown tomatoes. I pick them carefully. They glow in my hands, shimmer Beneath their patina of warm dust Like talismen. Perhaps they are. Summer here is a crucible That melts us down…
These Days by Charles Olson from “Collected Poems of Charles Olson—Excluding Maximus Poems” whatever you have to say, leave the roots on, let them dangle And the dirt Just to make clear where they come from
Bamboo by Jane Hirshfield From “Orion” What exists wants to persist. Even the knock of bamboo on bamboo spilled outward continues. And you who have lived—restless, ambitious, aggrieved. A Walter, a Shirley, a Tim. A Carlos, a Teisha, a Haavo. Do not think it unchanged, this world you are leaving.
I lived in New Mexico for seven years in the 1980s. I recall the Saturday night car parades down the main street of Espanola…and have magical memories of Chimayo. I’m glad our National Poetry Month editor Stephanie Farrow chose this poem for us. It brings back happy memories of one of my heart homes. –Janet…
Early in the Morning Li-Young Lee from Rose While the long grain is softening in the water, gurgling over a low stove flame, before the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced for breakfast, before the birds, my mother glides an ivory comb through her hair, heavy and black as calligrapher’s ink. She sits at the foot…
You Have to Be Careful by Naomi Shihab Nye from Yellow Glove You have to be careful telling things. Some ears are tunnels. Your words will go in and get lost in the dark. Some ears are flat pans like the miners used looking for gold. What you say will be washed out with the…