This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
a girl in a field
she hides among the tall grass
tassels shiver
strong gusts stoke the dry
smell of dust and drought
she begins to cry
tears fall to the hard ground
grief reaches for change
weaving comfort
wrapping our self in words
promising protection from
the burning heat of this miracle
the icy depth of this aloneness
the rough terrain of truth
as I look out
As I look out
into the glory of a morning
my awareness dawns
more activity rushes through that small patch of earth in one minute than I could complete in 10,000 hours
the rush of
things to do
becomes strangely silent
as I look out
into the glory of a morning
art anyway
what is art?
does it matter?
maybe words
just cause a clatter
wake to beauty everyday
art just happens anyway