For the second April in a row, I’m contributing a line, the eleventh here, to a community poem, developed like film in different darkrooms, forming a picture-poem for kids:
Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.
Oh, what wonderful dreams she had had! Continue reading
I step out of my writing cave
into a day of misty rain, blinking.
A squirrel is digging
a hole in the dark soil. Continue reading
Anyone who falters to a stop,
mid breath, and
lets her words breathe,
then echo,
then die,
is a poet.
Fresco at University of St. Thomas in Minneapolis Used by Permission of Laura Purdie Salas
The fairy tale, the prosaic,
the absurd and the divine,
find their way into myth,
story, art and rhyme.
Friendly Fairy Tales 