• poem for a thursday

    A Poem for a Thursday #257

    William Stafford didn’t publish is first major collection of poetry until he was 48 years old. That collection won the 1963 National Book Award for Poetry. Stafford went on to publish 57 volumes of poetry. His poems have a gentle, conversational style with a clear connection to nature. Mostly you look back and say, "Well, OK. Things might have been different, sure, and it's too bad, but look— things happen like that, and you did what you could." You go back and pick up the pieces. There's tommorrow. There's that long bend in the river on the way home. Fluffy burst of milkweed are floating through shafts of sunlight or…

  • books I bought

    I Bought a Few Books

    There are a few guaranteed ways to improve any day; drink more tea, eat some chocolate, or buy some books. Repeat as needed until happiness is achieved. I take these words to heart regularly. Last week I had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon and his office happened to be only 15 minutes away from Half Price Books. I knew what I needed to do and I did it. I had a lovely time browsing through the shelves. As an inveterate bargain hunter, I started in the clearance section. That is where I found the knitting magazine and the copy of Code Girls. My fascination with life during WWII continues…

  • poem for a thursday

    A Poem for a Thursday #256

    I have featured Robert Francis once before. You can read that post here. I like today’s poem because it sounds so friendly and conversational. It is filled with the joy of friendship and the enjoyment of the natural world. What more can you ask out of a poem? Keep me from going to sleep too soon Or if I go to sleep too soon Come wake me up. Come any hour Of night. Come whistling up the road. Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door. Make me get out of bed and come And let you in and light a light. Tell me the northern lights are on And…

  • life

    Too Many Notebooks and Not Enough Words

    For as long as I can remember I have done what I call “writing in my head.” I would tell myself stories about the people around me, rehash conversations, write essays about things I was upset about or happy with, and generally narrate my life. Sometimes these “writings” would turn into actual writing in notebooks or on this blog but frequently they would just drift away with the day. A lot of this writing would happen at night as I lay in bed. All too often, I stayed awake late into the night to fine-tune something that would be just a hazy memory by morning. But that was fine. That…

  • poem for a thursday

    A Poem for a Thursday #255

    Seamus Heaney was an Irish poet and playwright. He wrote over 20 volumes of poetry and criticism. In 1995 he won the Nobel Prize for Literature for “works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past.” At one time, his books made up two-thirds of the sales of living poets in the U.K. After his death playwright Tom Stoppard said of him “Seamus never had a sour moment, neither in person nor on paper.” And some time make the time to drive out west Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore, In September or October, when the wind And the light are working off…