We’ve nearly reached the end, folks. The last day of our terrible no-good very bad year. To close out this series, I’ve selected a gentle poem, May Sarton’s “House of Gathering.” It’s like a deep cleansing breath. I taped it to a bench in a complex where my friend Sister Pat, 80 and going strong, […]
MoreOn the second to last day of this sad and strange year, we turn to yet another poet who died in 2020. I left Lisel Mueller ‘s “Bedtime Story” on the banks of the Rouge River in suburban Michigan. Bedtime Story by Lisel Mueller The moon lies on the river like a […]
MoreAnyone still here? The countdown series is winding down—only four more days. The poems will be dark for the next seventy-two hours but I promise to close out 2020 on a positive note. Today we look at the forgotten sister of the Family Annus Horribilis, climate change. Just as ugly as her siblings but […]
MoreWith only nine days left in 2020, I’m here to celebrate the end of toxic politics in 2021! Just give me ten minutes to land my spacecraft on planet Earth and the festivities will begin. Alas, hate-filled political divides aren’t going anywhere. But before we enter into any poisonous conversations over the holidays, […]
MoreOn day 11 of the end of 2020, let’s turn to Israeli poet Natan Zach who died this November. I left his poem “Against Parting” at Michigan Central Station. The 1913 Station, once called Detroit’s “Ellis Island” and later the favorite of “ruin porn” photographers, is being renovated by Ford Motor Company. (You can link […]
MoreOnly 14 more days till the end of 2020, and with breaking news of the months-long government cyber attack, there are ever more reasons to be anxious. Because so many of us have channeled our anxiety into epic closet-purging and shelf re-organizing, I left Arthur Guiterman’s “Everything In Its Place” in the container aisle of […]
MoreFifteen days till the end of 2020 and four days till the official start of winter. Winter, the dreaded season, the season Dr. Fauci has been warning us about since the pandemic began. If Fauci weren’t such a gentlemen, Ezra Pound’s expletive-filled “Ancient Music” could be his cri de coeur. I left the poem in […]
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