Proof of heaven
As in a soup, spoon-hot, I float with noodles – the yellow tubes hold me up and I defy gravity, my organs mystified at the lack of pressure from above or below All is calm: I drift, waiting for God…
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September 2, 2015
Poetry is magic with words
On those surprisingly frequent occasions when someone asks me what I’m doing in my retirement, I cannot help but hesitate – because what I’m mainly doing is writing poetry. If I admit it, a glazed expression comes upon them, because…