The Sound Words Make

She had a fancy new journal spread out on her desk and a not so fancy fountain pen in her hand. She wrote a sentence or two, nothing special, just to hear the sound of the pen against the paper.

She wasn’t thinking about her words. She was letting her troubled mind be soothed by sound.

Sometimes you think about what’s important and your brain floods you with answers, with hierarchies of answers.

But your heart? Well sometimes your heart just needs to be soothed by the sounds of the small things, like a pen leaving scratches on virgin paper.

Hard Ground, Manic and Endless

I am thinking
about you
looking out my window
watching spring
wishing I hadn’t forgotten
how to laugh

watching you
even now
can still
make me smile
and stumble
reaching
for empty air
that rush
of soft voices
home

Thinking about you
I give up
sit down
on hard ground
let my teeth
slide into soft peach
trying to remember
the sound of you
manic and endless

5 April 2019

 

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My Interview with Jericho Brown

Charlotte interviews Jericho Brown!

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“I think social media allows more access to more poems. And I think it allows me the chance to think about the work of poets I love in a more intimate way since I can see them struggling with teaching and writing and raising kids and living in the moments when it happens. Poetry is better when it comes from and happens to real people we can imagine. No oracles!” — Jericho Brown

*****

My interview with poet Jericho Brown is currently online in Barren Magazine. Click here.

Many thanks to Jericho for generously sharing his thoughts and insight and to Jason Ramsey for publishing it in Barren.

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In the wood

With each careful footstep
pine needles
the forgotten colours
of a forgotten autumn
softening the sound

she counted

until stars
came out
to greet her

and the moon
to bless her

only then
did she let herself
rest

only then
did she let herself
believe

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a wood in West Sussex

Happy World Poetry Day!

I repost Charlotte’s poetry quite a lot. Here’s another wonderful one.

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In honor of World Poetry Day I’m sharing my very first published poem. It was published in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature back in 2010.

Delaronde Street

By late august we’ve become
accustomed to the noise of the
locusts singing their mating song of hope.
The calls rise and fall in tandem
with the breeze that blows over
our bodies as
we lie together in the hammock,
the gnarly limbs of an ancient oak
like a cradle around the balcony and
we the not-so-innocent babes
within it’s protective embrace.

Softly we swing, holding our
glasses of gin and tonic, the cold
sweat of the glass dripping
on breasts and chest then
vanishing into skin that still
glows with the flush of sex.

The rustling leaves of the palmettos
heighten the strains of Irvin’s
“Othello and Desdemona” wafting
through the french doors and
I hum along, too lazy and…

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