“That, my girl, is a blaze of glory,” he said his gloved hands wrapped around the handle of a rake. Mom snorted a laugh. “Ha, the only blaze of glory a man like you will ever have.” My khaki-clad dad scowled. I turned back to the pile of leaves, a flaming pyre,...
Photo: Hila Ratzabi in Acadia National Park in Maine Thank you to poet Hila Ratzabi for sharing her thoughts on eco-poetry. Hila’s dedication to poetry and the potential that poetry has to make tangible, positive changes continues to inspire me. Hila Ratzabi was...
What drew me into the room was the ordinariness. These paintings and drawings were not of dancing girls or opera dames or absinthe addicts. The color palettes were not of bright yellows or hypnotizing blues; there were no splashes of shocking red in a flower...
I was walking one day through the misty shadows of my life wondering about the why of my world, the why of my work and thinking I should be more useful. Useful like a train engine able to drag and to push, to travel great distances or only move other cars around a...
I’ve been rereading May Sarton’s powerful Journal of a Solitude, and it’s a perfect companion to Minerva Rising’s upcoming Issue 7: Wilderness, which you can submit to now. What does the idea of wilderness inspire in you? I think of the vast rooms and spaces in my...
My photographer mother, Melabee M. Miller, has always told me to look: Look up. Look behind. Look around. Look outside the frame. She composes photographs with her eye and then frames them with the camera. Looking is the perfect writing lesson. Start with an image,...
