joanschildofice.blogspot.com

Child of Ice

Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

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Child of Ice | joanschildofice.blogspot.com Reviews

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Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

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1 child of ice

2 by joan dobbie

3 the bitter winters

4 usually a stranger

5 to shame

6 it was simply

7 a cruel splendor

8 joan dobbie

9 0 comments

10 about me

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Child of Ice | joanschildofice.blogspot.com Reviews

https://joanschildofice.blogspot.com

Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

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joanschildofice.blogspot.com

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Child of Ice: by Joan Dobbie

http://www.joanschildofice.blogspot.com/2007/03/by-joan-dobbie.html

Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile.

2

Child of Ice: March 2007

http://www.joanschildofice.blogspot.com/2007_03_01_archive.html

Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

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joansjustoffthequeenelizabeth.blogspot.com

JUST OFF THE QUEEN ELIZABETH: December 2007

http://joansjustoffthequeenelizabeth.blogspot.com/2007_12_01_archive.html

JUST OFF THE QUEEN ELIZABETH. Tuesday, December 25, 2007. I was thin as a waif,. Just two and a half,. Courtyard with its tiny. Protruded from a high. The word, watermelon, saw. Its lush pink,. Rich black on white paper). The alphabet. We fought,. The vast gaping mouth. Were children. I called out. The only two words. I could think of in English,. For the children to come,. This poem appeared in the anthology, PATCHWORK OF DREAMS, 1966. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 1:03 PM. View my complete profile.

joansmyfirstmemory.blogspot.com

My First Memory: March 2007

http://joansmyfirstmemory.blogspot.com/2007_03_01_archive.html

Monday, March 26, 2007. Switzerland, circa 1947*. My First Memory, circa 1947. I think I was not yet two. In the tiny (neutral) country called. To which my parents escaped. Where I was born. From which we later. Were forced to leave. But then it was spring. Me so tiny,dark and so naked. Sitting bare bottom in a washtub. Of thin blue water. Under the impossibly high. Where my mother had left me. For just one minute alone. When the huge brindled cow. Arched nostrils came by. Drank up all my water.

joansmychildhoodlamb.blogspot.com

My Childhood Lamb: April 2007

http://joansmychildhoodlamb.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html

Thursday, April 5, 2007. She chased cars, butted babies,. A gift from some old farmer. That my father cured. She put his fragile nerves. On such an edge. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 11:03 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie. Some Thoughts and How to on Poetry Writing. My First Memory, Circa 1947. I Begin with a Moment. Find my poems in: Looking For Home, Women Writing about Exile. Find my poem in: A Patchwork of Dreams.

joanschildhoodpoems.blogspot.com

Joan's Childhood in Poetry: March 2007

http://joanschildhoodpoems.blogspot.com/2007_03_01_archive.html

Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Saturday, March 24, 2007. As long as there is memory, there is poetry. Rainier Maria Rilke, in his letters to a young poet, said something to this effect: If you're looking for subject matter, no matter what you are living now, you can always find poetry in the memories of childhood:. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass.

joansibeginwithamoment.blogspot.com

I Begin With a Moment: March 2007

http://joansibeginwithamoment.blogspot.com/2007_03_01_archive.html

I Begin With a Moment. Saturday, March 24, 2007. I Begin With a Moment*. One particular moment. It is Sunday, after the family Sunday dinner. Sweet with the smells, of Sunday. There is the fireplace, wood burning; there is the staircase, warming as it rises. I am sitting halfway up the staircase, facing out; my hands loosely encircle the smooth swelling bars of railing. I am bathed in the swelling comfort of rising air. And what is the matter with Joanie? Why does she always sit by herself? I do not unde...

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Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Saturday, March 24, 2007. As long as there is memory, there is poetry. Rainier Maria Rilke, in his letters to a young poet, said something to this effect: If you're looking for subject matter, no matter what you are living now, you can always find poetry in the memories of childhood:. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass.

joanschildofice.blogspot.com

Child of Ice

Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Didn’t kill us, though every. Year at least one person. Froze to death. As for. Us, we scrambled through. Snow tunnels, lay. On our backs to form. Angels, flew down. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. I knew no other. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 9:21 AM. View my complete profile. Joan's Childhood in Poetry. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

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