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The Live Poets Society: September 2014

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The Live Poets Society. Sunday, September 28, 2014. Inspired by two young women. Who at less than half my age. Already understand and articulate. Twice as much wisdom and knowledge. Of the heart,. And how we are all connected –. Or not —. To our own pain. And the pain of others,. And the goodness of others,. To the spirit within. And to and from and back. Inspired by two young women. Whose words of poetry. Flow like song,. Of my own healing. Even at more than twice their age. I take still small steps.

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The Live Poets Society: August 2015

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The Live Poets Society. Wednesday, August 26, 2015. When lonely, his whimper. Sparks across the dark. Gap where the heartbeat's born. Like a wolf howling. A bridge of sorrow. Once I left him too long. He dug a hole so deep. It became a throat. I climbed down to get him out,. Saw stars shining overhead. If I forget to feed him,. Crumbs from my childhood,. And left long ago. He runs, leash-free,. Returns to lick my hand. I will follow him. To the river,. Step into a weathered boat. Floating on the cold fire.

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The Live Poets Society: June 2015

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, June 29, 2015. A warm summer day and the downhill run. From Staunton home, and there he stood. In Highland array at the overlook,. Bag full and chanter to his lips. A private moment, it seemed,. Else we would have stopped. To listen, perhaps to chat. If he had a mind to. But he was intent on his piping,. Facing east across the valley—. Piping, one might think,. Who settled these hills,. Tracing in his mind an unseen path. From a lowland port westward. 169; David Black, 2015.

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The Live Poets Society: December 2014

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, December 22, 2014. Christmas Day in the Workhouse. Note: Normally the poems on our blog are by our members and friends. This seasonal poem, however, was written by George R. Sims, an English journalist and poet, back in 1879. Sims was a social reformer, and this Christmas poem- which has some of the appeal of a vintage melodrama- dramatizes the plight of the poor in Victorian England. It is Christmas Day in the workhouse,. And the cold, bare walls are bright. But the paupe...

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The Live Poets Society: May 2015

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, May 18, 2015. ÉMILIE CHARMY PERFORMANCE, INCANTATION). Look, good swaying people, good people with good vision, good eyes that see and see and see! Visualize the vision we bring to you from upstairs! Bring her paint before you, as we sing and dance her into existence before you. This is incantation. This is the charm of Émilie Charmy! Bring her before you! Victorian décor or paint shaping desire revealed. This is a salubrious trick. What we thought was middleclass ...Let u...

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The Live Poets Society: Sunset

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, August 3, 2015. Is so much more than gold-lit treetops above the pines. Like an arresting figure drawing near, I’m hesitant to describe,. Sundown absorbs all the likely adjectives in its saturated demise. There is light, though not the “bright white” of those curly electric bulbs,. A dull, diffuse, dusty light found where surplus objects are sold. There’s that pink in the sky remarked by parents’ sighs on the. Evening of another day. When streetlamp lights my window. Augus...

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The Live Poets Society: The Road

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, June 22, 2015. I drive over timeless mountains. The sky exposes herself to me. In falling starlight and dreamy wisps. The road unfolds before me,. Telling a story I discover in each moment. I know the path well. I have driven here before,. Finding your love again and again throughout time. In pauses between conversations with strangers I call friends;. In the quiet of night when only the insects speak to me,. My mind wanders back to you. In these day dreams,. The Live Poet...

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The Live Poets Society: Look in My Window

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, June 15, 2015. Look in My Window. So, look in my window. Stare at me. Mock me. What do you think you see? A white haired woman standing by the counter, cooking? I hear you thinking, "Why does she stand there,. Day after day, just cooking, cooking? She's alone, who the hell will eat all that food? Might you, peeking in my window, see more than this chopping old fool? Might you think, "There's a person who wants to be useful.". Wrinkles manifest like uncooked ramen noodles.

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The Live Poets Society: Afton Mountain Piper

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The Live Poets Society. Monday, June 29, 2015. A warm summer day and the downhill run. From Staunton home, and there he stood. In Highland array at the overlook,. Bag full and chanter to his lips. A private moment, it seemed,. Else we would have stopped. To listen, perhaps to chat. If he had a mind to. But he was intent on his piping,. Facing east across the valley—. Piping, one might think,. Who settled these hills,. Tracing in his mind an unseen path. From a lowland port westward. 169; David Black, 2015.