A seagull’s view on a day of remembrance
On this sad day of remembrance, I wonder what the seagull recalls from these same crystal blue skies.
Does the sorrow of smoking towers burn her eyes?
[Daily post 057 of 260 in my year-long challenge.] ♨
On this sad day of remembrance, I wonder what the seagull recalls from these same crystal blue skies.
Does the sorrow of smoking towers burn her eyes?
[Daily post 057 of 260 in my year-long challenge.] ♨
Springfield, Illinois, is a Lincoln-haunted town, and much of the old downtown has a Lincoln association of some sort or another. But more than Lincoln has happened there.
The moon rises over the forested horizon as we witness its appearance from the lake shore. How many moonrises have we seen across these waters?
I recently came across my earliest publications, a collection of forgettable poems that made their way into several small literary journals.
On a winter visit to the Fernhill Wetlands in Forest Grove, Oregon, ice covered the lake, thick enough to support a crowd of Canada geese. The breeze did not allow a leisurely contemplation of the scene; the morning blew hard through me and left me empty of thought or feeling or desire. I moved quickly through the landscape, leaning like the cattails bent by wind. ♨
Spider rock stands as a two-headed spire that rests motionless on its ancient pedestal, like petrified arms stretching upward toward the canyon’s rim. Inside Canyon de Chelly on the Navajo Nation, the lithic monument figures into Diné mythic history. ♨
This excerpt from an epic retelling of the Christian biblical narrative offers a poetic interpretation of the traditional Christmas advent story.