Your love is like a
silky ribbon repairing
the breach in my heart.
original poetry and haiku
Unlike former fashions, old albums
never go out of style. I can pop a
CD in the player that smacks of
poodle skirts, bell-bottoms, leg
warmers or leather pants without
worry of how that might reflect on
my personal fashion sense. Music
bursts through barriers of time and
trend. It cannot be contained or
confined to years, decades or centuries.
Music lives on, as long as you play it.
There were four
of them -- four
graceful geese
gliding over 65
North as the four-
lane interstate
backed up
farther and farther
south. In the midst
of the two-accident
Tuesday morning
turmoil, just as I
began to grip my
steering wheel
in frustration, I
saw the quartet
breezing over
all four lanes
of traffic without
a honk of their own --
so soft, so peaceful,
so content; so intent.
I watched them
split into two pairs
and continue on their
January journey,
as I adjusted my
hands and then
my attitude, without
a honk of my own.
I am thrilled to announce that, tonight, I will launch a brand new monthly arts forum, Show Your Work, with my friend Andrew Nelson. I plan to read at least one of my poems tonight and look forward to enjoying the work of fellow artists of all types and stripes.
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Show Your Work: A Monthly Arts Forum
Every Second Thursday, from 7 to 8:30 p.m.
Out on the Lakeshore, Holland, Mich.
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If you're in the area, please feel free to join us!
I keep the photo in a box,
the box that my grandmother
gave me one Christmas,
the box that holds a single
glass angel ornament with golden trim.
I tuck the picture
underneath the angel
for safe keeping.
The photograph captures
the Christmas that you
spent with us 18 years ago
in Nashville.
This is the first Christmas
that Grand is no longer with us,
and the first Christmas
that the two of you,
complete strangers,
will somehow keep each other
company.The first time
I remember hearing live jazz
was in college at the
visiting writers series events.
A trio opened each evening
with a set on the theatre stage
to warm up the audience
for the featured
poets and authors
reading that night.
Sure, I had
heard of jazz
and marveled at the
magical moments
when a jazz club
was included
in episodes of
The Cosby Show
when I was a kid.
But when I first
experienced it live,
there was an
internal stirring
and connection
to the combo's
collaboration and camaraderie.
I was glad to be
in the same room
with the magic making
and the makers of the magic.
Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.