Why I Write Poetry

Why I Write Poetry

A few weeks ago Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest Poetry guru, put out a call for essays from poets to explain why they write poetry.

The why isn’t easy putting into words. And I’m not sure I even touched on the real reason. Like onions, there are layers of poetic insight and reflection. The simple answer is more like–I write poetry because . . .  just because.

  • Because it is.

Frankly, I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t.

If you write poetry, why? If you don’t, why not?

Here’s my essay which was published on the WD site:

Why I Write Poetry


The Other Side of Love

The Other Side of Love

The Other Side of Love

What she told me then—

It’s all ending—
this burden.

Beyond time Behind locks
fear is something else

and she wore it like a queen.

2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 30


High on Perfection

High on Perfection

High on Perfection

The prosodist dwells in the literary fountain,
with deep-throated roars of rising anger
splashing through waves of free writing,

fighting against streams of consciousness
reading aloud for foreign stones that trip
his tingling tongue, prying corroded spondees

off the pages, his mouth twisting as he spits
them out with rhythmic pounding, juggling
them with trochees and pure pearly iambs,

soft as lambs.


2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

when we returned

when we returned

when we returned

there’s thunder
rising toward heaven
and the children have gone home

rain is falling somewhere
across this sleeping world

the old man writes quietly
in front of the open fireplace

his sweet dreams becoming
clear as he fills the page

when he thinks nobody is listening,
he sings softly about faith and battles

now that we’ve grown weary of
imaginary joy, (we are fools)

we hear things unspoken

it’s only natural that the scent
of his wisdom
lingers on

2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 28




We awake secretly hoping
that one of us has an answer
to a question we never asked.

I wait for you to crack a smile
or wince but you just ramble on
about bulls and bears and cutting
our losses.

I swat your hand like you’re the
devil but really I’m the pest—
beggars never win.

I don’t hold the sun in my palm.
Neither do you.

But we wallow in the glaring rays.


It just might be enough.


2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 27

Holding Myself Captive

Holding Myself Captive

Holding Myself Captive

Nothing is holding the death
of our passion at bay in this fog

except the bounce of your laughter.

I kept thinking prayers would carry us home
but I got turned around and forgot
to put down my shield

and unfurl my fist from my heart.

2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 26