my home is where we make our meeting-place

Let’s kick off National Poetry Month with this quiet yet powerful Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980) poem that I’ve been reading over and over since I first encountered it last week.


The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love,
        my home is where we make our meeting-place,
        and love whatever I shall touch and read
        within that face.

Lift, wind, my exile from my eyes;
        peace to look, life to listen and confess,
        freedom to find to find to find
        that nakedness.


Happy National Poetry Month

“Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.” –Dylan Thomas

Dear readers,

It’s come time again for me to wipe the digital dust off this ol’ blog and begin posting a poem each day in honor of National Poetry Month. Whether you are a new visitor or have been kindly following for the last six years, welcome to another trip through verses of today and of centuries passed, by wonderful writers from around the globe.

It is my hope that over the next few weeks you will encounter poetry that makes your toe nails twinkle–and poetry that makes you feel, in the words of Dylan Thomas, that your bliss and suffering are forever shared and forever all your own.


P.S. As always, I welcome your comments. And recommendations for poems/poets/books to consider!