Hot Hills in Summer Heat, A Poem
Hot Hills in Summer Heat I watch them every summer, the hot hills Crouched like a lion beside the road, …
Hot Hills in Summer Heat I watch them every summer, the hot hills Crouched like a lion beside the road, …
If “Beauty is truth, truth, beauty,” as Keats’ poem claims, then what do my paintings of flowers, my attempt to …
When poet Jorie Graham was three-years-old, she swirled her fingers through her mother’s still-wet oil painting. Her horrified mother picked …
A Song on the End of the WorldBy Czeslaw Milosz On the day the world endsA bee circles a clover,A …
He passed his fingertips over her skin almost without touching her, and experienced for the first time the miracle of …
I’ve been reading (again) Jane Hirshfield’s Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry, a collection of essays on the art …
And yet we know it’s all just one continuous unfolding as one day or year slips seamlessly into the next. …
This phrase from my poem Brimless Being is becoming a mantra I turn to often these days. It’s about the …
Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of …
Primary Wonder, by Denise Levertov Days pass when I forget the mystery.Problems insoluble and problems offeringtheir own ignored solutionsjostle for …