This entry was posted on Sunday, January 4th, 2009 at 8:41 pm and is filed under poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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All night each reedy whinny
from a bird no bigger than a heart
flies out of a tall black pine
and, in a breath, is taken away
by the stars. Yet, with small hope
from the center of darkness
it calls out again and again.
When you visit artists in their studios, you have the opportunity to see what's up--literally, what's on the wall--what's happening in their heads, hearts, bodies & lives. I love seeing early work grow into itself. As a writer, most of my early drafts remain under wraps until the millionth revision & then I send it out for publication, a practice which isolates the creative process. I started this cross-genre journal as an experiment with the hopes of exploring what it means to make work when the studio door is open & friends & artists visit from time to time. Readers are invited to browse by genre or randomly, to post comments or e-mail them. Thanks for dropping by...
About Gold Thread
Many of the poems you'll find here are part of Gold Thread, a series that focuses on the subject of loveālove within the context of long-term relationship, marriage, monogamy, & surviving the profound loss of divorce or death. Gold Thread is part of a larger collection titled Hidden Drive.
January 5, 2009 at 2:50 pm |
This is one of the most beautiful things I have read in a long time. It is precious.
January 20, 2009 at 1:11 pm |
SCREECH OWL by Ted Kooser
All night each reedy whinny
from a bird no bigger than a heart
flies out of a tall black pine
and, in a breath, is taken away
by the stars. Yet, with small hope
from the center of darkness
it calls out again and again.