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A Candid, Backward Look at Mid-Century American Poetry

Lacking the candor of dogs, I kiss the departing air,” wrote Theodore Roethke in “Praise to the End.’

What does that mean? That he is too inhibited to piss on the hydrant as he passes by? 554 more words



I’ve always loved musical jokes.

Q. How do you know if a drummer’s knocking your door.

A. The knocking keeps speeding up and slowing down. 629 more words


Life At The Beach

My family moved to the Northwest in the early 1980’s. They wanted a change from the rat race as they called it in Southern california. My Aunt traded a quaint little ranch home for a split level home to share with my beautiful grandmother. 664 more words

Why bother with writing exercises?

If you’re inspired enough to take a writing class of some sort, you’re almost certain to be presented with a creative challenge of one kind or another. 410 more words


Why i wrote a memoir

One August afternoon in 1967, Mom dressed me in a navy dress, patterned in tiny white polka dots, with an appliqué of paintbrushes and an artist’s palette in primary colors at the hem, and a white Peter Pan collar around my neck. 586 more words


Orphaned Again

My wife and I sit in a Culver’s, on the way to a memorial service for a friend. I gaze absently out at the falling snow, and the falling night. 459 more words


Keeping On, Keeping On by Alan Bennett

‘I seem to have banged on this year rather more than usual. I make no apology for that, nor am I nervous that it will it make a jot of difference. 452 more words

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