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Laura
Imagine the orginal question Of grace. Observe the wild white why Of almost. See how empty Ink can be. Use that canvas of dust To weld your raw shimmer Into song. lks 7/24/09 (this is... More »
Laura
The Poem that Cannot Be Written is different from the poem that is not written, or the many that are never finished---those boats lost in the fog, adrift in the windless latitudes, the charts useless,... More »
Laura
See this metal shard of empty song open up the pain in grace the dry water no color knows
Laura
Throw me a bone. Hand me a prompt, a set of words, a place to start, a seedbed or maybe just a seed. Tag me It and push me out from this place of wide... More »
Laura
Pine trees and strange rocks remain unknown to those who look for mind with mind. --Shih-Wu
Laura
The words loved me, and I loved them in return. --Sonia Sanchez I miss the places where writing poetry used to be. Where it took me. I feel sure those places are still there, but... More »
Laura
I will take with me the emptiness of my hands. What you do not have you find everywhere. --W.S. Merwin
Laura
I recently noticed this interview with Adyashanti in the most recent issue of The Sun and thought some of you might enjoy it. Here, too, is a poem of his from My Secret Is Silence.... More »
Laura
This ravine, still green And furious with foliage, Is a kind of gap, Its thirty-three descending wooden steps Obscured by ferns and humus In October's unseasonal heat. At the bottom, in the shallow place... More »
Laura
"I see nobody on the road," said Alice. "I only wish I had such eyes," the King remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too!" --Lewis Carroll
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