In search of story


March 3.19

Millennia ago

a poet thought

“Why a word?”

and then she wrought

on desert stone

“Here am I”

knowing we’d

be passing by.



Thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett, who claims these are

two-thousand-year-old directions to Starbucks.

I leave to you, dear reader, all degrees of credulousness.


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Connections: February 25

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAA heavy hand of winter

weighs on us today

a hoary wind lamenting

would blow us all away.

But here I sit in fuzzy robe

warm if not exotic

contemplating verb and noun

how utterly Quixotic.

Is it all inconsequential

or is it something more?

Should I care, or should I shrug?

The wind shrills “You’re a bore!”

Yet here’s my motley garden

leftover Valentine reds

my glorious amaryllis

with quadruple flaming heads.

Their warmth declares a battle

‘gainst dark and cold without.

I’m stuck between the forces

of will and writer’s doubt.



Connections: February 9

2015-10 - 66 - AntennasWhere’s the writers’ catalog

that offers such invention?

I need more than prompt and blog —

a step beyond convention.

My writer’s brain is jumbled

by inchoate voices within;

I need these to cut through the mumble

to help me unriddle the din.

I’d put one on my shoulder

and the other on my head;

I know I’d be so much bolder

if I could just hear what’s being said.

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.


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Connections: November 2



I stalled amid produce

and bales of hay.

Was I obtuse

or recherche?

Fingering bumples

gnarls and folds,

enamored of lumples,

emeralds, golds.

Time spent was absurd

to choose those that were righter:

you’d think they were words

and I were a writer.