Every time I sit to write a poem, essay, or even a journal entry, I sense the collective muse of women from the past, whose courage and vision allowed my generation of women the luxury and privilege of putting our pens to paper. From the Suffragists to the...
keep it real sister teacher arrived on the scene with instructions from the master, sowing love among the exotic herbs and wild flowers of her gardens. up came a harvest of children who caught her challenge to learn in spite of color, status, or address....
It’s oxymoronic, isn’t it, to speak up as a voice for silence? Maybe that comes from the perspective of this poet with a voice disability. What I say out loud is a cross between edgy and strangled. I’ve wondered if it isn’t a clue that I should listen more. The...
She doesn’t know my face or my name but she held me afloat. Courage comes in many colors but her kind glows in the dark. I gave her my biggest fears and she handed me her dreams, the silly ones that made me laugh when I felt emptied out inside. She walked the...
Seedpod of iris. What a perfect image for Mimi, the consummate gardener! How many gardens of hers have I helped dig, transplant; watched her preside over; shared the bounty from; commented on the design for . . . In Andover, her garden wound around drive and...
When I returned to writing after a twenty-five year silence, I discovered a good poetry prompt site that I grew to love: POETSONLINE. This site introduced me to the idea of sharing and presenting poetry online for others to read, and it also taught me what fun it can...