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’m here to tell you that building a poem with 29 other poets has shivered my timbers and set my castle alight. Read down, and you will see my line, bold and italicized, emerge like a flying monkey from the otherwise well-mannered unfolding. I think it may be carrying a torch. Or is that my hair on fire? (Terror, you cannot defeat me.)
The Secret Inside the Book
I’m fidget, friction, ragged edges—
I sprout stories that frazzle-dazzle, 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