Can Poets Write Prose?

Your words will rise once again. Here’s how. Can poets write?  It’s a silly notion, I know. But while I feel like a poet, the prose I write lately tends to meander in the sticks, the moss-covered ones, bad and okay, and without any kind of shelf-life.  If I believed in listening to the judge in me, I may consider it downright shameful. It’s like someone took the learning-to-write first grader in me and the jack-of-all trades (diy-everything) adult in me, put them both inside a blender cup, shook it just hard enough so the words spewed in chunks of polite pigtails and heavy oil paints, with slivers of reminders of moments when I was able to write with some tendency of poignant thought.  I know my words will rise once again. And, I know that if you’re stuck, so will yours. So the answer is a simple one. Yes, of course. As a poet, we write to convey specific messages – ones that are generally important to us. And same goes for prose. Writing a blog post trying to convince you (and myself) that we are both very capable, is just as pliable as writing a poem about the changing winds of Springtime.   […]

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Covid Infected Library Books

Will & strength and the unexpected dullness of Covid 19 When contentment camouflages complacency,healthy daily regimen slips into lonely dictatorship,and a quiet mind chatters its way to restless dreams,clumsiness of character enters the stage…We’ve climbed up and down boyfriends and girlfriends,cancer and fear, pains and gains,and we get the fine line between balance and beam,beam being that which we fall off ofand balance the place at which we get back on.But we are wrestling with this dullness while still standing on the balance,and it’s just this new desert we couldn’t see coming. It starts with the game we are infatuated with, where the main player piece is fashioned into our likeness,and we must fight to overcome our attachment to our own ego, which is the dark plague that is lurking around each bend.There are other players too, but we only start to see them as we lose facination with ourselves.We ooh and ahh about the wildfires taking people’s homesand yet we feel little and do nothing.We say “something must be done” after watching black men and womenkilled by those who are supposed to protect,and yet we don’t believe we have any power to make change.And so we are silenteven after

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