Nothing Personal [Poem]
like a balloon, the globe escaped
and drifted into the star-pricked dark
or perhaps it was I, filled with
the good air of hopefulness,
tied tightly by a mother’s hand.
like a balloon, the globe escaped
and drifted into the star-pricked dark
or perhaps it was I, filled with
the good air of hopefulness,
tied tightly by a mother’s hand.
I received my contributor’s copy of the anthology A Poetry of Elephants today. It is a project I’m proud to have been a part of–not only to be in the company of nearly forty excellent poets–but because all of the proceeds from the sale of the book go to The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. It
St. Albans, our nearest market town here in the English countryside north of London, has been holding a week-long series of events focusing on sustainable living. As part of the proceedings they solicited poems from the local Ver Poets group on an environmental theme. They have been posting a new poem each day, and all
I have had poems coerced into handmade paper via letterpress printing techniques, laser printed on broadsides sheets, and even hung like advertisements in shop windows. I am really excited, though, to have a poem on a tote bag. Not just any tote bag–a concrete interpretation of my poem “Robin”, beautifully designed by Jane Commane, on
Along with poems entitled “Ars Poetica,” essays entitled, “In Defense of Poetry,” or some variation on that theme, have circulated for decades. It occurs to me that the idea that poetry needs defending is as much in error as the idea that the Earth needs saving. In truth, if we humans sully our revolving petri