to think on that day when a shooting occurred in Colorado that, it was in the same school district as Columbine?
Tag: poetry
Grief: Past the Days of the Anglerfish to Nemo
Grief will change you in ways you never expect. Some say grief is an ocean. A truth exists in this extended metaphor. In the beginning—and sometimes for longer—you live in the ebony depths of the ocean where only the best cameras capture pictures of its creations. Some friends drop off because the depths are too… Continue reading Grief: Past the Days of the Anglerfish to Nemo
Thunderstorm, a Poem
Darling, come to me as the clouds gather. Be unafraid to view the sky. It wants you to look away from the doom and gray. Hold tight and fear not, for the shades of bars on windows, city streets slick after rain, and the slate-snow after tires and dirt blend it color clouds that want you to cry.
It: a Poem
I am tired of it because I’ve lost enough. “First they came …” Do you know those words?
Trauma Dumping, a Poem
Today, I share a poem on a term about which I have written before. This time I read this poem, "Trauma Dumping," in Corrie's Butterfly Garden.
Awake: A Poem for You
"I can feel when one withdrawals their presence and friendship. It is not for us to prove to them our worth and craftsmanship."
In the Words of Penelope, a Poem for all Women
There are days I love you, and remember the feeling—though how fleeting it seems now when the words of men and the women bending to them pour down like rain in a torrent in the heart of a hurricane. Recall every moment I have loved you from the time our daughter opened hereyes, and the… Continue reading In the Words of Penelope, a Poem for all Women
The Writer’s Block Breaks
We’ll see the changing of the colors, dear, no matter when it is: the swan emerging from the river before summer’s end when one more calla lily portrays its plumes.
I Remember What It is to Love a Daughter
Did you know I loved my daughter so much that I did everything I could to find her the blue Sleeping Beauty dress for her Halloween costume when she was three? I will speak of the quality of the life she lived because I know what it is to love, adore, and even defend my daughter.
When the Lilies Bloom
I wish I could write of love that everyday is when the lilies bloom, and its yellow streaks reminds us of honeysuckles at dawn in June when the hummingbirds begin to greet the warmth of Earth. We, who have loved, all wish this of love, and for those who love long after us.
Corrie's Season 