poetry

‘Nothing Gold Can Stay,’ and Thatā€™s OK

In the South, we have a tendency to cram words together to create a single gigantic one, a kind of linguistic Pangea, if you will. The one Iā€™ve been using a lot lately is ā€œusetacould,ā€ a condensed form of the phrases ā€œI used to be able toā€ and ā€œI once…

What’s Haiku With You?

I donā€™t know about you, but most mornings my brain feels like itā€™s full of hyperactive gerbils. This could be my multiple sclerosis, or it could be pandemic brain fog. Either way, I understand that song by The Police in a brand new (and very real) way these…

Eugene Peterson and Lessons About Intentional Living

The last few months have been interesting for obvious reasons. All of our routines have been toppled over like a stack of blocks, things that were once mundane now feel alien, and getting back to ā€œnormalā€ (whatever that looks like) still feels as far away as the horizon. But I…

How to Release Fear

I just turned 42, and though I am wiser and stronger and more independent than I was a few decades ago, not everything is coming up roses. Some days, I feel weak and helpless. Other days, Iā€™m overwhelmed. And thatā€™s just part and parcel of life for every human being…

We Are Streams that Sing

Wendell Berry, a novelist, poet, farmer and environmental activist, has written a number of superb books. Donā€™t believe me? Go read “Jayber Crow” and shoot me a message. I would love to discuss it with someone again! As a person who happens to have multiple sclerosis, I…

Poetic Justice to be a Party Pooper

In my angst-ridden teen years, I wrote poetry. It was truly dreadful and should have disappeared in the wash of personal history. Luckily, it was the mid-’70s, and in those pre-internet days, it was committed only in pen to scrappy paper rather than as a confessional to the…