Heron Rises from The Dark, Summer Pond, by Mary Oliver

So heavy is the long-necked, long-bodied heron, always it is a surprise when her smoke-colored wings open and she turns from the thick water, from the black sticks of the summer pond, and slowly rises into the air and is gone. Then, not for the first or the last time, I take the deep breath … Continue reading

First Things At The Last Minute, by Robert Haas

The white water rush of some warbler’s song. Last night, a few strewings of ransacked moonlight On the sheets.  You don’t know what slumped forward In the nineteen-forties taxi or why they blamed you Or what the altered landscape, willowy, riparian, Had to do with the reasons why everyone Should be giving things away, quickly, … Continue reading

On poetry, a quote from Mark Strand

“A poem may be the residue of an inner urgency, one through which the self wishes to register itself, write itself into being, and finally, to charm another self, the reader, into belief. It may also be something equally elusive — the ghost within every experience that wishes it could be seen or felt, acknowledged … Continue reading

Reinventing America, by Phillip Levine

The city was huge. A boy of twelve could walk for hours while the closed houses stared down at him from early morning to dusk, and he’d get nowhere. Oh no, I was not that boy. Even at twelve I knew enough to stay in my own neighborhood, I knew anyone who left might not … Continue reading

No, by Mark Doty

The children have brought their wood turtle into the dining hall because they want us to feel the power they have when they hold a house in their own hands, want us to feel alien lacquer and the little thrill that he might, like God, show his face. He’s the color of ruined wallpaper, of … Continue reading

The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. — Iain Thomas

The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.     — Iain Thomas

On Writing, from Mary Karr

Most great writers suffer and have no idea how good they are. Most bad writers are very confident. Be willing to be a child and be the Lilliputian in the world of Gulliver, the bat girl in Yankee Stadium. That’s a more fruitful way to be. — Mary Karr

Thus we sit, loving the world | Lines from Mary Oliver

Thus we sit, myself thinking how grateful I am for the moon’s perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich it is to love the world. From “The Sweetness of Dogs” in Dog Songs: Thirty-Five Dog Songs and One Essay by Mary Oliver Highway to the Moon, by Aaron J. Groen

If you ask me what I came to do in this world-

“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.” ― Émile Zola