Tag Archives: writing poetry




                                       Poetry is its own prayer,

                                      The closest words come to will.

                                                 –  Amanda Gorman (“CORDAGE, or ATONEMENT”)


To untangle a knot of fishing line

you must begin with the hook—

work reason gently backwards.


Don’t pull tight but take a breath,

give time away and listen

to the words that swim by.


Free the mind to find itself

not coifed in sheep’s clothing

but wild as a wolf in the woods.


Watch the water riffle and eddy.

See rocks and cobbles talking

from an ever-changing streambed.


This is fishing.

This is poetry.

This is solace.



Some come quickly now,
a phrase to trigger more
coiled upon the ground
while others hibernate for days,
for weeks and months,
as if they might be dead
without the touch of rain—
that hard and brittle
mindset to survive
like deep-rooted filaree
with all its colors,
with all its seed
waiting for a kiss.
I know no other way
to pen prosody.




                                When god visits us he sleeps
                                without a clock in empty bird nests.

                                      – Jim Harrison (“The Little Appearances of God”)

We give ourselves away
perhaps too generously
in poetry, leave bare

the tree, its cankered burls
we’ve grown to live with
season after shorter season

shedding pages
to a southwest wind
before the storm

leaves us clean
once more to dream
the winter long

of green—yearning for
pastoral perfection
between each heartbeat

of littered pages—
we give ourselves away
to open space, to all

the new and wild beginnings
we’ve yet to see
until we learn to live in trees.