Thaw

The ground is thawing. And now the sun has reached an angle of amber upon the bees.

Town Memories

Will I grow old and hang around the shop Will young guys come to pick my brain and use my tools

Flight Home from LAX

LAX creates somniacs or worse. Promised wifi is a lie. We lay to wait connection, a continuation home.

A Tribute to Pathways

Winter solstice was hardly a comfort, for those of us who suffer from SAD while enduring our endless days fading daylight.

Gifts for All, Good Tidings for Island

In the annual Gazette Christmas poem Santa finds something in his sack for almost everyone. Reindeer sightings reported in Menemsha.

So Much Kindness

I appreciate the prayers and kindness shown to me and my family during my daughter’s illness. So happy to be back on-Island. So grateful. The following by Naomi Shihab Nye, from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems, captures perfectly my sentiment at this time.

Memories of Pop Still Line the Dashboard

The following poem is by Warren Woessner, a birding enthusiast and bard who wanders the shorelines of the Island.

Mining Poetry for Humor and Meaning

What if a deceased dog could talk? What if hippos went on holiday?

Those are some of the questions asked and answered by the former U.S. poet laureate and Island favorite Billy Collins in a reading of new and selected poems at Featherstone Center for the Arts last Friday evening. Among other disparate themes, he explored parenting, animal-human relationships, endearing soap bars and the experience of a traveler who arrives in a foreign place and is immediately told he has arrived too late in the year to witness the peak of the natural beauty.

My Yellow Lab Floyd

He shows me the way

A boy in a dog suit

On a scent

Innocent

His marble-sized eyes

Soft brown nougats

Warm Black Crow centers

Anchored in opposing tear drops

At rest

Lying sideways

Between the weight of the world

And a profound sense of loss

He has seen it all

And regrets most of it

Eyes rimmed as if with kohl

It’s a look, a look that cannot be denied

You want to give him everything

You will give him anything,

Acclaim Received, Never Sought for Poetic Soul

Throughout her life, Fanny Howe has consistently chosen to do what she loves most, never expecting to be compensated, much less be read or appreciated. She has lived a life of letters, writing poetry for her own enjoyment and inspiring others to do the same.

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