Browse Topics

Selected Poems

Grandmother

The sky and trees, reflected once in the creek, are reflected again in my thoughts. These are not the black trees written on a light gray sky that small black words bring to mind. But, green and living, they stretch to grasp the sun, lobsterlike in living claws.

Women Writers: Out Of The Closet

It is possible that we are looking out there, over yonder, when we ourselves, or our sisters or mothers or daughters may be secretly squirreling away some of the most direct, honest, intense “news” around about what being a human being is — and not even know that it qualified as literature and might stand the test of time better than much that is presently coming out of the big N.Y. publishing companies.

Drops

Full Moon Message

Chapel Hill Journal

Just today I found that the dialogue with a book supersedes the lecture being given by it. Some compilers of books even work upon that premise.

I Don’t Know How To Be Gentle

Finding The Pen