How I've spent my time outside the blog.

Forgive me, for I know not what I do...This morning I received a phone call while I was cleaning a hand print sized piece of bird excrement off of an exterior light. The caller was a teacher from Capital High School teacher who was phoning on behalf of the Lannan Foundation regarding an event in the near future. Somewhere in this small conversation she praised “my blog” and I could not help but wonder where this woman conjured up her notion about me having a blog…and then I ... [more]   Comments (0)

Once again I’m back to critiquing another installment of one of Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry columns (#76). As before I’ll let you read the column first and than my thoughts will come afterwards, if you choose to view them.

I'd guess we've all had dreams like the one portrayed in this wistful poem by Tennessee poet Jeff Daniel Marion. And I'd guess that like me, you too have tried to nod off again just to capture a few more moments from the pa... [more]   Comments (0)

In short time the fragile but beautiful event known as summer vacation shall be shattered and replaced with the routine of shuffling through hallways, bagged lunches and sharpening pencils only so that they can be poked into the ceiling. I realized that yesterday, being that it was my last Saturday of summer, and, to be perfectly true, by last day of summer (everyone knows Sundays are just early, foreboding extensions of Mondays). The truth is, I almost felt nothing, which is... [more]   Comments (1)

Today I took an American Life in Poetry Column (#69) by Ted Kooser, US Poet Laureate 2004-6 and added some of my own commentary to it. Feel free to read it, my comments, and leave one yourself.

This marvelous poem by the California poet Marsha Truman Cooper perfectly captures the world of ironing, complete with its intimacy. At the end, doing a job to perfection, pressing the perfect edge, establishes a reassuring order to an otherwise mundane an... [more]   Comments (1)

The night before the fourth of July I walked into the downtown Borders and bought myself a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and other Poems. Oddly, it seemed appropriate that I should have the book in my possession while wandering amongst the locals with my friend Danny at the annual pancake breakfast. I was without money and hence, without pancakes, which should have made me feel even more out of place, but, still I had the feeling that something was fitting into place.
“I ... [more]   Comments (1)

After a week away from sunny Santa Fe there are two things that must be revealed. One, never go through the Las Vegas airport and two, if you are a writer you should go to a writers conference at least once in your life. No matter what happens, it’s an experience worth while.
At about 8:30 pm I got on an airplane at the Albuquerque International Sunport and headed off for the Juniper Young Writers Conference in Amherst Massachusetts. I could feel my hands shaking as I step... [more]   Comments (1)

Abattoir

To dream of skeletons
Is like seeing a mirror fill up with laughter
And then to watch it break,
But I had begun to suffer in the world
And I was always traveling in and out of smoke
Which made the air fragile,
Something I could breathe little of.

To dream of skeletons
Is like walking through the slaughterhouse
And hearing the laughter as it whispers
From a dead woman’s lips,
Only to be taken apart b... [more]   Comments (1)

Everywhere I travel I meet people who want to write poetry but worry that what they write won't be "any good." No one can judge the worth of a poem before it's been written, and setting high standards for yourself can keep you from writing. And if you don't write you'll miss out on the pleasure of making something from words, of seeing your thoughts on a page. Here Leslie Monsour offers a concise snapshot of a self-censoring poet.

The Ed... [more]   Comments (0)

Youth Poetry Blog

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