May 2. Since this happens to be a very political week here in Indiana, a poem from a new series that I am writing, tentatively entitled “The Politics of an Old Woman”, seems fitting for my contribution this time around.... Read More

April is National Poetry Writing Month.  As such, along with some of my fellow PGM bloggers, I’m participating in the poem-a-day challenge with much delight. Friday was Earth Day.  I spent some time over the weekend cleaning up out at... Read More

This April, my life is crammed full, overstuffed and brimming, with poetry and possibility. I am happily hogwild in muddy, muddy spring. National Poetry Month arrived in a dreary dateless winter of responsibility and irresponsibility—to community, family, self, selfhood itself,... Read More

April is one of my favorite times of year, no matter where I’m at!  I’m writing today from Boulder, Colorado and linking up with others who are participating in the  ‘National Poetry Writing Month.’  This is a challenge where writers... Read More

We hid eggs in tumbling creek waters, on top of moss covered rocks, and watched while children hunted in meadows, peeked around trees, found an owl pellet, crinoids, and cracked into those eggs long before we could count to see... Read More

Overhead, a billion stars dotted the night like the light of God’s truth leaking through the strainer of a dark sky.  I paused before getting into my car, not wanting to open the door, not wanting a flood of artificial... Read More

I. My ears strain to hear the singular trill of Sandhill cranes high in February’s cloudless sky, above wind rattling through dry beech leaves and wind chimes jangling on porch. Ah! There they are! “Angels I have heard on high!”... Read More

  After the first revolution the poet’s were busier than cabbage moths in the garden  The Poet’s Garden   Maxine Kumin       When the white moths eat away at my words I feel I’ve betrayed myself. I have let... Read More

Standing alone near the evergreens who nod and sway knowing one another— some from seeds dropped from their own branches, in another year. Their own children, but no tree knows its own, only that it continues the forest. Some grew... Read More

The human heart is the first home of democracy. It is where we embrace our questions. Can we be equitable? Can we be generous? Can we listen with our whole beings, not just our minds, and offer our attention rather... Read More