I hit upon the idea, derived from a phrase of James Merrill's, that I should pay attention to those writers that had the greatest deposits in their word banks.
Word Banks
Walking with James Schuyler; The Skeleton Forest; Murmur; Ariadne sings the blues, Landscape
We walk. Last light on the grass where graves should be. Rain will not follow us.
On relations, the art of paying attention, and reading world literature
If you ignore the world...
What I Care About on Litbreak
Caring about something...not caring about everything...because there has to be a limit...or I'd go crazy. So on this site, I care about the ability to write. But stop to consider - what a great and rare thing that ability is.
Retracing Old Lines; Backyard Deer; Resting Place
I added to memories held in the curl of these ancient, dusty, blue mountains Perhaps, I added new life to parts of myself The heat is sweltering There's just enough breeze running in the canyon to flutter cottonwood leaves I put my flip flops on and I'm off, with the wind
How I Write
I felt there was a poem inside me that needed to come out, and I sat down with pencil and paper and wrote it down. When I read the poem back to myself, I cried for the first time, a good bit actually. The poem was the key I needed for tapping into the feelings that had been hanging out under the surface, just out of reach.