* Bestselling * Award Winning * Indie
about my poetry books and life as a poet
By Lucille Clifton. why is what i ask myself maybe it is the afrikan in me still trying to get … Read more
“How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme?
You told me once ‘the very wish
Partook of the sublime.'
Then tell me how! Don't put me off
With your ‘another time'!”
—
“And would you be a poet
Her name? Her name is Generose, here is how her story flows: 
through the latest news of war
our ruler coming out to say
‘Bombs Again!' Though his minions'
mincing words, force-feeding what
‘we' need to do, and why, (with regret)
some evil people (and some others)
must die;
through the soldiers jumping to,
while I, and my kind, are left gasping
behind, holding a small stand somewhere
like this, appealing to someone
like you.
So…
Can you come with me
to a place far from here, where
four or five m– No. Let
me begin again. Let me start
with myself, with yesterday when I
Here is a small poem about a big subject:
Listen, my parents,
the grasses are crawling,
the trees are all thrumming.
Soon, birds won’t be able to sing.
Listen. Hear me. Our time
One major inspiration of art and writing is… art and writing. I'm reading a brilliant anthology, 
edited by Carol Ann Duffy, called Answering Back, with a simple, delightful concept: a living poet chooses a poem from the past that has touched them and writes a new poem in response.
It's a beautiful collection of calls and replies, echos and illuminations across centuries — and gives a vivid sense of how, through writing, language and human connection transcend time and place.
Here's a poem about art by WH Auden, chosen by Billy Collins and,
Down by the river bank I see a life-ring on a line, and think of how we used to swim in talk, … Read more
‘”Thou Shalt Not!” soon fades,’the Storyteller* said. ‘But “Once Upon a Time…” goes on forever.’ It is morning, May in … Read more
So now we meet each evening to meld/the passing and the coming life/suspended/in fading light
that knows/ just what it holds…
Short Poem from “Inspiration Meditation: A Guided Meditation to Develop Creative Intelligence. For Writers, Artists & Everyone”. By Orna Ross.
The great Artist is at work.
Around his house, his children move
in whispers, while his wife
lays down a dinner tray,
tells that it’s there
with two soft raps – no more – tapped on his study door.
The great Artist begs his work
I consider Glendalough, Co Wicklow, Ireland, to be one of the most 
inspiring places on earth. It's where Iseult Gonne is buried and where some chapters of But A Dream, the third book in my WB Yeats trilogy are set. I spent as much time as possible there when I lived in Ireland, especially while researching that novel.
This poem is a tribute to all that was given to me there.
Time Out At Glendalough
After you have walked the ruins
of seven churches,
tilted back your head to seek the top
of the tower that took
the rounded point
of Kevin’s steeple
and thrust it up,
three times as high,
from earth to sky to mark
the ground you walk upon
as holy;
after you have circled green lake paths
that urge you up, then further up,
to top the crashing
waterfall, then
higher;
after you’ve been stopped and stopped again,
by sight of ice-sliced mountain cut to valley
its mesh of rivers and falls,
rushing to empty all into two, long lakes
that somehow take this ceaseless gush
and hold it
still,
you will know
the allure of here,
as of all the places we call sacred,
is the silence.
You will have heard
the voice
of your own blood
dropping into
the deep.
Become a patron today and please accept my endless appreciation for your support and encouragement … and for your love of poetry.
Beyond Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Christian, Buddhist, Jew… Beyond socialism, nationalism, feminism, capitalism, tribalism, communism… Beyond power, politics, money, identity, sex … Read more
