I love plants that herald early spring before Dogwood Winter, the cold snap that occurs in mid-April when dogwood trees start blooming. This poem notes the painterly strokes I’d give these blooms if wielding a palette knife (page 25 from The Tears of Things: Poems (Madville Publishing).
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Equinox Reflection: Bench Prayer
As life renews itself, the Earth’s axis lines up, with the southern and northern hemispheres catching an equal amount of sunlight. May we find restoration in seeking balance.
Accidental poet? Yup, doing my thing (love or leave it)
Poetry’s payoff seems less about praise or copies sold. I figure you’re blessed if you get to paint images with words, fiddle with figures of speech, juxtapose the unlikely, ponder the human condition, celebrate nature’s wonders, forgive the relationships that broke (and built) you, sing of those you love, and mourn your losses.
Taking the creative leap may jump you to new places
Part of being a writer is facing rejection and waking up the next day to try again. I spent a few years submitting to literary journals—with poems accepted and rejected. But I kept taking the leap until I built up a collection and Madville Publishing accepted it. If you’re a creative, embrace your vulnerability and jump in.
Looking back to move forward: how this artist’s life mattered every minute
Reading Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town in high school was a rite of passage: two families’ travels of a lifetime—the spectrum of human existence—in one day. It’s a rich read when I reflect on artist Edwina Goodman and this question posed by one of Wilder’s characters: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?” Yes, some do, and we are better for it.