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Why Do You Write?

I’ll never forget the question. I paused, looked up at the woman, and said something like this: “It helps me wrap my mind around whatever I’m dealing with.” (These days that would be aging, grandchildren, covid-19.) “I get a little edgy, all bent out of shape when I don’t write, so it’s to everyone’s advantage that I write.” And, "I guess I no longer know how to get by in this world without putting my thoughts and feelings on a sheet of paper or into a computer." I don’t really know why other poets write. I can’t speak for them, but they have been my teachers. This is April, National Poetry Month. I’ve been putting a poem or two in my blogs each week, to honor poets and poetry. I am grateful

Dialog About My Way of Coping

“You have a book beside every chair in the house,” he said. I looked at him. “Yes, that’s how I’m getting through the pandemic.” He looked at me. “Here’s how it works: I’m stuck at home, so I read a poem, a devotion, something uplifting every few hours. The poets and writers are my friends. (They don’t know I’m dependent on their writings, but I am. Reading what they’ve written helps me.) Also, it’s a quiet pastime, so I can still hear the birds.” He was quiet. “Let me read one short poem to you. Try to imagine it as I read.” March 20 The vernal equinox. How important it must be to someone that I am alive, and walking, and that I have written these poems. This morning the sun stood right at

New Hope, New Beginnings

But first, there was Good Friday. Jesus Christ had hung on the cross six hours, from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m., when He said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Holy Week. This is the week during which some of us have reread scriptures and relived Jesus' path—riding on a donkey colt, the crucifixion, the torn curtain from top to bottom at the Temple, three hours of darkness, and the resurrection. God’s great love shown for mankind. His love lives on. Presently, the world is making adjustments for dealing with Covid-19 pandemic, and churches are, too. Many churches are praying and figuring new ways to keep their congregations safe and healthy and to continue to provide spiritual sustenan

And the people stayed home

And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed. – Kitty O'Meara This prose poem has gone vi

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