Set in a line like soldiers firing, The books I love but never read wait For their departure, glaring down at Me from the shelves where dust will soon be Unveiled, leaving silent shadows for Destruction by the softest weapon. I don’t have time to write my own poem about the moving. I’m too busy […]
The Present By Billy Collins Much has been said about being in the present. It’s the place to be, according to the gurus, like the latest club on the downtown scene, but no one, it seems, is able to give you directions. It doesn’t seem desirable or even possible to wake up every morning and […]
Sometimes you’ve got things to worry about and other times you worry even when there’s nothing much to worry about. It doesn’t make much difference in the end. My advice: Stop worrying and write a poem. Worry is a big black bird. It spends its hours on a wire. Waiting. And then at the slightest, […]
I see you, teenage child. With your swagger and secrets. Sticking your flag in new territories. Of course, I’m boring. Show me a mother who isn’t. It’s our gift. To you. A life solidified – a crash mat made of person. Ready for your ungrateful bounce.
My adorable nephew shows his colours I was at the office of a Sunday newspaper yesterday, putting in my occasional appearance as a subeditor when something odd happened. We had, as most papers do today, several spreads about the Olympics – about the closing festival high jinks, about glory and courage. So far so uplifting […]