Poem broken open
I like the ribald poems of sloggers and shufflers, their sweeping hands and glint-eyes, the meat still in their teeth as they tell it loud. I like swaggering po...
Category: Beauty
Grow Mercy–a family Christmas letter
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the condominium Not a participle was stirring, not even an idiom… &...
Winter solstice jetsam of a happy bystander
Salmon, asparagus and rice, cooked over a wood stove, a few lines from Merton and Purdy, is all that’s needed to live out this year’s longest night....
The turning tide, like a seeking heart
I lived in a basement in Victoria BC and ate cottage cheese because it was cheap and I had read somewhere of its complete-food value. The basement had a door fa...