When I ran on the cliffs I thought that freedom lives in pelican’s wings

This poem has too many parts to parse. Each line a morsel. And it’s on its 8th or so revision. Still, as much as I can’t parse it, and you don’t want me to parse it, I have to say that when I watched the Oregon coast and ran along it from sea level to 1000 or … More When I ran on the cliffs I thought that freedom lives in pelican’s wings

The joy of revising a poem – “The Rites of the Living” again and again

I posted the first completed version of “The Rites of the Living” earlier. And I’m a compulsive reviser. Poems leave the pencil of fall on the keyboard curtain and then I immediately start playing with them. They grow in the sunlight of my imagination, sometimes getting horribly tangled and messy with arrows going here, scratches … More The joy of revising a poem – “The Rites of the Living” again and again