I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.-from A Room of One's Own
04297 – Who is “Anon”?
read more
03796 – Practice Your Art!
Practicing an art, no matter how well or how badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous...
03125 – We are Not Helpless!
A poem cannot stop a bullet. A novel can't defuse a bomb... But we are not helpless... We can sing the truth and name the liars.
02949 – Not a Perfect Ending
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's...
02603 – “Gather Up”
I shall Gather up All the lost souls That wander this earthAll the ones that are aloneAll the ones that are broken All the ones that never really fitted in I shall gather them all up And together we shall find our home from "Gather Up," in A Little Book of Poetry
02203 – Dignity
There is as much dignity in tilling a field as there is in writing a poem.
02194 – Our Present Shapes Our Future
What you do in the present--by painting, preaching, singing, sewing, praying, teaching, building hospitals, digging wells, campaigning for justice, writing poems, caring for the needy, loving your neighbor as yourself--will last into God's future. from Surprised by...
01843 – God, the Artist
God, the Artist Thou takest the pen– and the lines dance. Thou takest the flute– and the notes shimmer. Thou takest the brush– and the colours sing. So all things have meaning and beauty in that space beyond time where Thou art. How, then, can I hold back anything...
01768 – Praying
It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another...
01559 – Two Roads Diverged…
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was...