As the dream opens, I’m in Grand Central Station in New York City. (In dream-speak, call it a grand place at the center of things. Maybe even the heart itself.) The station is bustling with…
This week I plopped down on the piano bench to muse with my fingers on the keyboard about what to write for today’s Staying Power. One song led to another, and eventually I came to “What Happens,”…
This week, in trying to grapple with the enormity of the recent earthquake in Turkey and Syria, I turned to writing poetry. The staggering numbers of the dead, wounded, and homeless (many of whom were…
Tyre Nichols was, in his own words, an “aspiring photographer.” His favorite subject was landscapes. He also loved shooting videos while skateboarding. As one of his friends said, he used his camera “to capture the…
Good morning, Pat!* Thank you for your email, seeking to hire me as an editor for your poems. By now, you’ve received my reply, where I explained that I don’t provide editorial services, only “creative companioning.”…
My habit in large waiting rooms is to walk. I’m always surprised by how far I can go while not going anywhere, just pacing or doing circuits, waiting my turn. I’m surprised, too, by how…
Geoff stands on our snow-covered side stoop, bundled against the single-digit cold. Grinning through his frosty white beard, he delivers me a gift on behalf of his wife, Sue: a big, warm pair of mittens,…
Happy New Year! Like so many holiday travelers (perhaps you?), our family had unexpected adventures, trying to visit my mother in North Carolina at Christmastime. Happily, we eventually made our way to her.
A Rafter asked me to muse on the topic of shame and self-forgiveness. This poem is what emerged. Thank you, anonymous friend, for the prompt! THE SCAR'S APPEAL Phyllis Cole-Dai Look at me: I’m what…
Way back in January, I introduced to you the practice of writing centos. Here’s a refresher: A cento is a literary work, usually a poem, created exclusively from lines or phrases lifted from the work(s) of…
It’s a cold morning here in South Dakota. We’re expecting snow this afternoon, just enough to cover the ground in white-Christmas fashion. Here in our living room, the Christmas tree is lit. The hearth has…
“You feel a little tighter today than normal,” Rachel says, softly. Yeah, right, I think. As if I haven’t noticed. Rachel is my massage therapist. I typically book an appointment with her every month to help…