I reach for your hand to walk along the beach. White sand between toes can be twenty instead of ten I reach for your hand, but you turn away to look at orange streaks of sky. Small fires reflect in your eyes. Sometimes I see the mountain shades of the blue of Blueridge September skies… Continue reading Walk Along the Beach, a poem
Category: Poetry
Make Your Poetry Ugly Beautiful
Do what? Poetry. Who needs it? It does not sale in the market if you're looking to make money. For people who read, poetry seems to cause emotions almost as extreme as politics. They either like or they don't. My husband has hated poetry most of his life, but claims I am bringing him around… Continue reading Make Your Poetry Ugly Beautiful
Hear the Sparrow
June has come, and I hear the sparrow. A woman tells me Her husband says, “I didn’t know the stress you were under ‘til you left that place. When you came to a better place, I got you back.” I rush home in my van to tell you the good news. There is hope, I… Continue reading Hear the Sparrow
God Left Green Street, a poem
I saw them gather at the church. I did not join them there. God left Green Street on a day in April when black-gray clouds intersected. A fight on the street, or in the school, the boy will meet you there because God grabbed his hat and coat. He left the kids of Green Street.… Continue reading God Left Green Street, a poem
A Better Place, a poem
"Get up and smile," someone says. "You're going to a better place." They say it like "All dogs go to heaven." Your best pet went to live on a farm upstate. The battles are over, The fires put out, Some think I'm crazy to compare a house of learning to the place where militia hide… Continue reading A Better Place, a poem
I Would Not See, a poem dedicated to my co-workers
I took one last walk down the hall. My husband waited for me there. I could believe I would not see Your eyes drop down at the ground, or you smile through clenched teeth to say, "One day more." I waited for this day to come, and when it did, I smiled wide until I… Continue reading I Would Not See, a poem dedicated to my co-workers
They Say I Lost my Hope, a poem
There is a rumor going 'round that I lost my hope. Some say I sold out my hope when I dressed in black, but I put on a dress-- a soldier's unwrinkled uniform. It's pressed and ready. It might get torn, covered in mud, and my face reflects a reaction no one's nightmare wants to… Continue reading They Say I Lost my Hope, a poem
Writing about Goodbye
Poetry contains photographs. Old school poetry didn’t interest me much, but when introduced to early twentieth century poets, my world changed. Poems didn’t have to rhyme. Lines could break. You could paint with words or create pictures through the placement of words. In my last blog, I wrote about how we, as writers and teachers,… Continue reading Writing about Goodbye
A Purpose to Write
Writing has dominated my life. Reader: (most sarcastic voice) Becca, I had no idea. I communicate better through writing than when I talk face-to-face because it could depend on which side of my personality I wish expose or hide when I speak with someone. Most of the time, I have little time write my memoir,… Continue reading A Purpose to Write
From Fiction to Prose Poetry
My husband said, to my family's horror, the poet has gone into the cave this week. I didn't grade or check my work email. I let the most essential part of myself, the author, fly free. I love teaching, but so much of myself has to be constrained. It goes with the professional atmosphere, and… Continue reading From Fiction to Prose Poetry
Corrie's Season 