writing : blog
And so, a month of poetry comes to an end. This time, each day in April, a poem by a woman. And we will end as we began, with a poem by Eavan Boland, this one about a pomegranate. And a daughter. I hope we can all find ways–in every other month of the year–to read more poetry. There is…
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mind :: my brain and yours Colours in cultures. As languages die, we lose diversity of thought. (Thanks to Jill Chesley) If you want others to follow, learn to be alone with your thoughts. (Thanks to Marilyn Maciel) body :: my place and yours Change is the result of choice, action…not time. Colorblindness linked to racism online and off What…
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She Didn't Mean to Do It Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad.She didn't mean to do it. Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs,go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces,but no more. Certain thrills knock you flaton your sheets on your bed in your room and you fadeand they fade. You falter and…
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Fuel Even at this late date, sometimes I have to look upthe word "receive." I received his deepand interested gaze. A bean plant flourishes under the rain of sweet words.Tell what you think—I'm listening. The story ruffled its twenty leaves. * Once my teacher set me on a high stoolfor laughing. She thought the eyesof my classmates would whittle me…
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The Apparent When I say transparency, I don't mean seeing through. I mean the way a symbol is made when an X is drawn over O.As the world moves when it is named. In the sense of truth by consciousness, which we translate as opposites.The space we breathe is also called distance.Presence gives. Absence allows and calls,until Presence holds the…
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Pictures of Home In the red-roofed stucco houseof my childhood, the dining room was screened off by folding doors with small glass panes. Our neighborsthe Bertins, who barely escaped Hitler, often joined us at table. One night their daughter said, In Vienna our dining room had doors like these.For a moment, we all sat quite still. And when Nath Nong,…
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The Woman in the Ordinary The woman in the ordinary pudgy downcast girlis crouching with eyes and muscles clenched.Round and pebble smooth she effaces herselfunder ripples of conversation and debate.The woman in the block of ivory soaphas massive thighs that neigh,great breasts that blare and strong arms that trumpet.The woman of the golden fleecelaughs uproariously from the bellyinside the girl…
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don’t forget to writeby maya stein while you are piecing together the map of your life,stepping as nimbly as you can out of the mulchof your thoughts, the busy traffic of your heart,while you attempt grace and magic and the blessing ofyour soft, surrendered kiss, while you are fathoming the stretchyou will need for the wide and rocky jungle of…
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For today's rambunctious celebration of National Poetry Month, take a look back to a poem about birds. [Image from here]
Patti Digh is the author of six books, including bestsellers Life is a Verb and Creative is a Verb. She travels the world teaching others about mindfulness: to live fully, love well, let go deeply, and make a difference. Patti's comments have appeared on PBS and in The New York Times, Fortune, the Wall Street Journal, the London Financial Times, and many other international publications. She writes a thank you note every morning.
