Category Archives: almost-poems
the loving
I was reading Courtenay Bluebird’s blog and I came across a beautiful poem she wrote called Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Bluebird, an homage to Wallace Stevens, or what CB calls an “English-to-English translation.” I loved it so much
the loving
I was reading Courtenay Bluebird’s blog and I came across a beautiful poem she wrote called Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Bluebird, an homage to Wallace Stevens, or what CB calls an “English-to-English translation.” I loved it so much
water dream
at night i dream water big water, unruffled as glass and as clear blue spanning from feet to horizon world open wide as a mouth tilted up to the sky. i pause at the edge, frozen under my umbrella, cold
water dream
at night i dream water big water, unruffled as glass and as clear blue spanning from feet to horizon world open wide as a mouth tilted up to the sky. i pause at the edge, frozen under my umbrella, cold
ablutions
It’s early morning. A shapeless form lumbers along the sidewalk, dragging a loaded cart on tiny wheels. I sit sipping tea at the front window of a café on Shattuck Avenue, pretending to be busy my pile of papers and
ablutions
It’s early morning. A shapeless form lumbers along the sidewalk, dragging a loaded cart on tiny wheels. I sit sipping tea at the front window of a café on Shattuck Avenue, pretending to be busy my pile of papers and
How to Fly (Making Friends with Crows #12)
The other day, the stars magically aligned (empty house, hour to spare) for a miracle and I had the time and space to jump onto my spin bike. And it was good. Which is nice because it’s not always good;
How to Fly (Making Friends with Crows #12)
The other day, the stars magically aligned (empty house, hour to spare) for a miracle and I had the time and space to jump onto my spin bike. And it was good. Which is nice because it’s not always good;
Retrograde
* I’m stuck at 7:37; my watch battery croaked. One of the damn burners on the stove won’t light. When I (finally!) put the pumpkins in the compost, it knocked the shut-off valve for the gas line to the house
Retrograde
* I’m stuck at 7:37; my watch battery croaked. One of the damn burners on the stove won’t light. When I (finally!) put the pumpkins in the compost, it knocked the shut-off valve for the gas line to the house
Ten Things About Crows
It’s been a year since I began trying to make friends with the crows in my neighborhood and I think I’ve finally done it. So, for this 10th installment of my foray into the world of crows, I’ve written an
Ten Things About Crows
It’s been a year since I began trying to make friends with the crows in my neighborhood and I think I’ve finally done it. So, for this 10th installment of my foray into the world of crows, I’ve written an
Résumé (Because These Days, Who Can Afford A Wife?)
(The following is what happened when I sat down to write my résumé.) * Experience (See, Go Through, Undergo, Feel): You will have to come to my house to see evidence of what I have done since I quit my
Résumé (Because These Days, Who Can Afford A Wife?)
(The following is what happened when I sat down to write my résumé.) * Experience (See, Go Through, Undergo, Feel): You will have to come to my house to see evidence of what I have done since I quit my
glass balls tied in a rope; a found poem
I have just returned from an extended vacation with my family. It feels like some crazy mommy hijacked my body and took me for a joy ride. They finally found it abandoned by the side of the road and brought
glass balls tied in a rope; a found poem
I have just returned from an extended vacation with my family. It feels like some crazy mommy hijacked my body and took me for a joy ride. They finally found it abandoned by the side of the road and brought
train of thought
i. Especially on warm nights with the window cracked, I hear the trains. That long moan pulls me out into the sultry, rippling air, over the city to jump onboard an empty boxcar, lean back, and let myself be taken.
train of thought
i. Especially on warm nights with the window cracked, I hear the trains. That long moan pulls me out into the sultry, rippling air, over the city to jump onboard an empty boxcar, lean back, and let myself be taken.
love poem
* * The woman in the window flutters and burns like a dripping heart. He appraises from below; his eyes tug at her hair. “Hello!” He calls, “Here I am!” She smiles and waves. It is her job to sit
love poem
* * The woman in the window flutters and burns like a dripping heart. He appraises from below; his eyes tug at her hair. “Hello!” He calls, “Here I am!” She smiles and waves. It is her job to sit
