I am halfway through revising short stories for my collection. As I finish each one I will send it into the world hoping to find a home for it. Even as more story ideas get jotted in my inspiration notebook I am turning to poetry. I just finished one of Roger Housden's anthologies, "Dancing with Joy," and in my car is the anthology by Marilyn Sewell titled "Cries of the Spirit." I am wading through those words too, setting free my poetic spirit. Once these short stories are done and out and about, a binder full of poems awaits my revisions. They too will find homes I'm sure. Some may even end up here or on my other blog http://www.amarriageofpoetryandart.blogspot.com/.
Like wading into the foaming breakers of the gray-green ocean, I continue to wade into words, my own and those of other poets and fiction writers, and my heart swells like the waves at sea. It's a magnificent way to live.
In the crook of three evergreens
I perch a book of nursery rhymes
on my sunburned knees.
I sit, criss-cross-applesauce
on cool summer grass.
My lips move as I read to myself;
warming up that splendid
synchronicity of sound in my head.
mingle with an avian chorus,
the swagger of noon breeze,
the squish squash of children’s sneakers
on hot pavement.
I am in
a world of poetry,
at the ripe age of six.
I will never leave.