"...the lost ones, growing into the never-heard-of." *

Today was a day of worry and sorrow. Worry and sorrow for the world, the country, people I love, family, friends and my dear fur hearts. Outside it was blustery, I put out extra seed around the house for the birds and spent the morning trying to catch up on a couple of poetry blogs (both available along the right-hand side of this page) Deborah A. Miranda’s Bad NDNS and Devin Kelly’s Ordinary Plots: Meditations on Poems + Verse. I get both via email and will tell you that Miranda’s was very hard to read, I had to take breaks, her most current email sent out a number of older posts, all of which deserved extra attention and time. Posts that do a James Bond thing to my heart, I say shaken and stirred. Kelly’s, I like because it reminds me to slow down and really look at the poem, also I’m being introduced to a number of new poets – new to me.

That there is poetry available, no matter the subject matter, that one can swing through, right now, is a luxury. One I will hoard. As the world burns, as truth has to fight for air and light, as sad old ideas continue to come out of the shadow, out of the dark, out of the grave to ignite those who can only own this power, this delusion. I will continue to turn to poetry. Not as shield or a room to hide in but as a way to help me to talk to or consider what the liars are saying, to learn how to counter their arguments, their untruths, their twisting of language and logic. It will be like writing a sestina every day or a 100-word essay made of one syllable words, none of which you can use twice. (I did this once the topic was poetry, but it was a long time ago when my mind felt more nimble.) It will be like creating an epic poem on how to share the world and how it was never, ever just yours no matter what the history books or nights around the fire with your monochrome legend says.

Here is a poem, Nightriders * by Yusef Komunyakaa from Night Animals (Sarabande Books, 2020)