Author Archives: MEY
nothing of substance
nothing of substance split an irrevocable rift these small things potential chemical cocktails are consequential we are responsible for the ripple behold its reach as the full moon wanes the goddess forewarned but was denied so it is time to … Continue reading
New Moon
Full Moon reflects what New Moon says to Old Ways ….Begin again *** on the dark night of a new moon my soul is as the snow .. full….of….silence Leave Blank:Do Not Change:Your email:
I Am Home
I am home, birthplace of winter, childhood of snow tunnels, adolescence of Christmas carols, adulthood of whiteouts, home for the lengthiest, coldest, darkest season, greeted by the longest night, a joyous birth, an annual novelty, home, no matter the wind … Continue reading
In Progress – Nov 09
These are poems I’ve been working on in November. Observations and ideas are most welcome! digging trenches encircled by expired leaves pink earthworms wiggle while the novice digs crooked trenches remembering droughts and weeds foot plunges spade hand heaves handle … Continue reading
Regina Holliday: A Perfect Storm
Regina Holliday is a health-care reform activist. She is powered by love for her late husband Fred, who was diagnosed with stage IV kidney cancer last spring and died on June 17 at the age of 39. A week after … Continue reading
73 Cents: A Mural by Regina Holliday
Today I learned about Regina Holliday, a health-care activist who’s painting murals. She’s spurred by the recent loss of her husband Fred to renal cancer. Check out her powerful and huge mural 73 Cents, which depicts her family’s story in … Continue reading
Old to New
There’s an amazing energy where I’ve visited the Ardennes: thousands-of-years-old caves at Hans sur Lesse, the Ourthe River near the village of Bérismenil and the ancient Celtic camp of Cheslé, the large old stones or dolmens of Wéris. Turning off … Continue reading
Bellies
I’ve been thinking about bellies and mine’s recent expansion. In the year-plus since I moved to Belgium, the baggy pants have become snug. There’s nothing permanent about my belly’s current contours, though they could persist. And though not the only … Continue reading
Silver Ladies
Along fields sewn on hilltops, sentinels of valleys lined by houses, families nestled in womb curves. Up the hill of Stockemstraat to the lane between fields, and then the forest and field. Long grass saturated with dew, fat drops on … Continue reading
Forgetting
Before the pain King Kong fell down the interior wall, courage failed to live in small ways, and memory forgot to deadhead the roses .. What I Wouldn’t Have Learned in the Womb some of us forget our lines cross … Continue reading