Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

Flowers by Linda Pastan

The deep strangeness of flowers in winter—
the orange of clivia,

or this creamy white rose in its stoneware vase, while outside

another white like petals drifting down.
Is it real? a visitor asks,
meaning the odd magenta orchid on our sill unnatural
as makeup on a child. It's freezing all around us— salt cold on the lips,
the flinty blacks and grays of January in any northern city,
and flowers everywhere: in the supermarket by cans of juice,
filling the heated stalls near the river—
secular lilies engorged with scent, notched tulips, crimson and pink, ablaze
in the icy corridors of winter.
~ from Traveling Light (Norton, 2010)


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