Here at T. S. Poetry, nothing could make us happier than when a person discovers poems. Reading them, or writing them. Or both.
I’ve known Will for several years, online. Then, this Fall, we actually met at a Writer’s Retreat (where we laughed quite a lot, and I learned more about the life of an insurance adjuster). Through it all, Will has kindly put up with my teasing about poetry. Until now.
Now, inexplicably, the teasing has been embraced as the serious thing it is: an invitation to go deeper, to travel a new kind of word-road.
Thinking back, I can’t remember exactly where it began. Maybe I said something about Will’s prose sounding poetic. Maybe it was a crazy night on Facebook when I began to see shared lines as lines of poetry.
In any case, the invitation has been accepted. It’s just a playground, says Will. And, honestly, we hope it remains a playground. Because playing with words can be so fun and healing—especially playing with poetic words, because they get right to the heart of things with succinct images, sounds, and rhythms.
Welcome, Will. We are so pleased to be sharing the journey (or the playground) with you now.
You owe me a poem,
she says, and bats smirky
semi-colon lashes into a wink.
Dang it, I slip. Her memory
is like the fine ground
edge of a kitchen cleaver
honed sharp by a housewife’s
A debt paid in words
overdraws my account.
The details are sketchy but
I spent my last
99 cents at the secondhand
store on a silky flannel shirt
to cover lumberjack arms
bulging thick from swinging
On second glance I see
the tags have been switched
and it’s just Twinkies
up my sleeve after all
Buy a year of Every Day Poems— Read a poem a day, become a better poet.
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