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William Stafford Weekend
Okay, so he was born in January. That actually might explain a lot about the icy, cold beauty in some of his poems, like his famous “Traveling through the Dark,” and “Ask Me,” which begins with those delicious words, “Sometime when the river is ice . . . ” But I was born in September,…
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Saturday Songs with Vampires
Lots going on these last few weeks here in my world, including work on a new chapbook, and preparation for a live reading with the River Poets at the Bloomsburg Public Library this Thursday, September 1st. I also went on a bit of a William Stafford reverie and recorded several lesser-known poems from his 1987 collection,…
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A Ritual to Read to Each Other, by William Stafford
Poems for Stuart, Part 3 I mentioned in the previous two parts of this series that my dear friend Stuart came to America this summer to visit with his son. What a blessing to me that on the way to Frank Lloyd Wright’s “Falling Water,” they took the time to divert slightly north and meet…
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Flashback Friday, Overvision
Is Flashback Friday still a thing? Are people still hashtagging this? Or has #ThrowbackThursday stolen the show? What can I say? I like flashing, and my throw is always a little late for whoever is up at bat on Thursday. So here’s a rewind to 2012 when I read my poem, “Overvision,” at Poetry Under…
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Birding – A Poem by Tina Mozelle Braziel
Originally posted on Poetry Breakfast: Birding Where lichen blooms green on the hickory. Where an unblinking rabbit hunches in his burrow. Where dried hydrangeas and broom sedge rustle in the breeze. I watched you carry an armload of oak through the uphill brush and stack the rounds in the wood cradle. When the red hawk…
