Weave Tapestries of Naught at All
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My poems help me see what is in front of me. They typically find that an image is presented, an image that seems to suggest a line of verse, just one which, when written down, enters into a cadence, a rhythm, a sense of sound and echo that evolves into a sequence of lines that flow. They flow until they stop, that is, and announce to me that the poem is, in fact, done. This book draws upon poems written some years ago, mostly in the years 2009 and 2015. There are also a few current poems that insist their way into the collection as they are accumulated in the current year's file. As I revisit ...
My poems help me see what is in front of me. They typically find that an image is presented, an image that seems to suggest a line of verse, just one which, when written down, enters into a cadence, a rhythm, a sense of sound and echo that evolves into a sequence of lines that flow. They flow until they stop, that is, and announce to me that the poem is, in fact, done. This book draws upon poems written some years ago, mostly in the years 2009 and 2015. There are also a few current poems that insist their way into the collection as they are accumulated in the current year's file. As I revisit the poems of years ago, quite often the occasion presents itself to memory - but not always. Sometimes that occasion is as if unnecessary and, indeed, almost in the way of the poem as it has come to be. Revisiting is always a pleasure; it becomes one of the spurs toward forming the collection itself. Indeed, it is the pleasure and the satisfaction in the book that brings it about. Satisfaction is such a boon to life.
