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Golden Moments #20
Golden moments are the little things in life that make everything worth it; the happy things, the shining moments of joy. I try to concentrate on these things to combat the negativity of the world in general, but I don’t think I have been doing a particularly good job since I haven’t written one of these posts in over a year. While the last year hasn’t been much fun I am sure I can come up with some nuggets of joy from the recent past. Let’s give it a try. The photo above was taken at Old Sturbridge Village. If you are a long-time reader of this blog then you…
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A Poem for a Thursday #314
Autumn is my favorite time of year. The cool days, bright sunshine, and colorful leaves bring joy to my heart. However, I am a little bit homesick for a proper New England autumn. Ohio may have fall color, but it can’t hold a candle to the East Coast. Robert Frost seems like the quintessential New England poet to me. Here is a lovely poem about October, which is, I hope we can all agree, absolutely the best month of the year. O hushed October morning mild,Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,Should waste them all.The crows above the forest call;Tomorrow they may form and go.O…
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A Poem for a Thursday #313
Robley Wilson was an American poet, novelist, and editor. Wilson taught creative writing at the University of Northern Iowa and was the editor of the North American Review. He has been widely praised for his editorial encouragement of budding writers and his unwavering commitment to his principles and vision. I wish that in the city of your heartyou would let me be the streetwhere you walk when you are mostyourself. I imagine the houses:It has been raining, but the rainis done and the children kept homehave begun opening doors.I Wish in the City of Your HeartRobley Wilson
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The Beach
Salty air. Sand between your toes. A warm breeze. The sound of waves against the shore. The screech of gulls. Searching for sea glass and shells. The shock of cold, New England water against your warm skin. Walking along the shore. Talking with family. Being silent with family. Memories of childhood; mine and my children’s. Peace. Happiness. Home.
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A Poem for a Thursday #312
Anne Sexton was born in Massachusetts in 1928. Sexton suffered from bipolar disorder and started writing after her therapist suggested that she do so. Her poetry is described as confessional due to the personal, emotional content. Sexton battled mental health issues her whole life and attempted suicide multiple times. She eventually died by suicide. In 1994, her daughter, Linda Gray Sexton, published an autobiography in which she stated that she had been sexually abused by her mother. That is obviously a shocking fact to come across while doing a bit of research about Sexton. How do we separate a person’s actions from their beautiful writing? Should we separate them? I…
