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Life, This Morning…..
Mortality Aging Living …. (!) gnawing at me, whispering to me, . . . tapping on my shoulder. ~ RLK 2.28.17
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poemcrazy…. {Great Reads}
Dear Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, You had me at, “I’m a collector of many things.” Proudly stated in the opening chapter of her book, Wooldridge’s lead-in to her collection of words starts by revealing she’s a collector of a great many things. Hmmmm….. feels familiar….. Add her thoughts on the writing style of e.e. cummings (irreverent, playing…
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The Poetry We Live
I often stand at our fridge, looking at the dozens of words, all magnetized and waiting to be noticed, moved, and meshed into a poem or story. I wait to see what jumps out at me – combinations of words that take on a life of their own. A few months ago, four words stood…
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NYC Fridge Poetry
As if peering out that 9th-floor window to the NYC traffic below, I see those magnetic words bunched, wandering, gravitating…. north, south, east, west…. Like NYC cars, the words move with purpose. Noisily. Quietly. Always with purpose.
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Corduroy Summer
