Category: Words


In re. the Reduction of Scoundrels

April 9th, 2017 — 5:41pm

It’s National Poetry Month!

I’ve been looking forward to it all winter and spring, and it’s only now dawned on me to say so, and only because a writer friend of mine has been posting daily in honor of it. Smart. Why aren’t I that smart? Well, no matter; I’m glad someone is.

My friend has been writing found poems–poems made up of text taken from other places and arranged to the poet’s sensibility. It dawned on me to try the same, but with the things I see around me instead of text. Regardless of how it turns out in the end, there are a couple of things about poem writing: while I was doing it, I was looking hard at real things and not thinking about myself. And, as Ted Kooser points out in a favorite book of mine,* “While you’re writing your poem, there’s one less scoundrel in the world.”

Here’s to that.

April Sunday, Lake Superior

Checkerboard set up and waiting,
Raven flying over.
Aquarium fish dart purposeful,
Worm dies with a silent slurp.
Big horizons out the window,
Small sounds are all I hear.
Filter.
Refrigerator.
Wind rounding corners.

*THE POETRY HOME REPAIR MANUAL, Ted Kooser, University of Nebraska Press

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My Stars

January 12th, 2013 — 8:19pm

If I don’t write down that the best part of my today was a snowmobiler saying, “Well, my stars,” with no apparent sarcasm, cynicism, or irony, I’ll forget and it’ll be lost.

“My stars.”

A phrase from my childhood in the thumb of Michigan.  People said that there.  I said that there.  I’m gonna start saying it again.  I am.

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