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Half-full, Half-empty?

Today’s NaBloPo­Mo prompt: “Is the glass half-full or half-emp­­ty?”

It’s half-full, and things are get­ting bet­ter all the time.

Last night as I was sleep­ing I dreamt—marvelous error!— that I had a bee­hive here inside my heart. And the gold­en bees were mak­ing white combs and sweet hon­ey from my old fail­ures. –Anto­nio Macha­do

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Madeleine L’Engle’s Poetry

I’ve been ter­ri­bly sur­prised that most peo­ple have nev­er even heard of Madeleine L’Engle’s works oth­er than A Wrin­kle in Time . She has writ­ten many oth­er books for young adults, fic­tion and non-fic­­tion for adults, and sev­er­al vol­umes of poet­ry. Her Cross­wicks Jour­nals are very spe­cial to me, but the bits of the […]

Poetry: Jane Kenyon

The Blue Bowl by Jane Keny­on

Like prim­i­tives we buried the cat with his bowl. Bare-hand­ed we scraped sand and grav­el back into the hole.                                They fell with a hiss and thud on his side, on his long red fur, the white feath­ers between his toes, and his long, not to say aquiline, nose.

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Poetry Question

In hon­or of Nation­al Poet­ry Month, the Acad­e­my of Amer­i­can Poets has been send­ing out a poem a day via email to sub­scribers. I’m enjoy­ing them, but one of them just…

Have you ever found the form of a poem to be so weird that it gets into the way of the mean­ing? I’m find­ing […]

Poetry: Edna St. Vincent Millay

I want­ed to do some­thing dif­fer­ent for today’s Thing-a-Day, and I signed up to be part of Live Read­ings a while back but hadn’t record­ed any­thing yet, so I’m post­ing this is both (all three?) places.

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why (Son­net XLIII)” by Edna St. Vin­cent Mil­lay

What […]

Reading Matters

You must read, Alice, before it’s too late. You must fill your mind with the invent­ed images of the past; the more the bet­ter. These images, apart from any­thing else, will help you put the two and twos of life togeth­er, and the more images your mind retains, the more won­der­ful will be the star-stud­d­ed […]

Poetry: Michael Blumenthal

For my Sam

A Mar­riage You are hold­ing up a ceil­ing with both arms. It is very heavy, but you must hold it up, or else it will fall down on you. Your arms are tired, ter­ri­bly tired, and, as the day goes on, it feels as if either your arms or the ceil­ing will […]

R.I.P. Madeleine L’Engle

I start­ed this post on Sep­tem­ber 7, the day after the grand lady moved on to find out what’s next. I find myself cer­tain that she wasn’t afraid, that she looked for­ward to a reunion with her hus­band Hugh and oth­ers who had gone before. And yet I, who nev­er even met her in per­son, was too upset to fin­ish the post or even look at it again for two months. […]

Poetry: Robert Frost

The Arm­ful For every par­cel I stoop down to seize I lose some oth­er off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slip­ping, bot­tles, buns, Extremes too hard to com­pre­hend at once. Yet noth­ing I should care to leave behind. With all I have to hold with hand and mind And heart, if […]