Yoga mat with mouse traps: This writing practice

Over time, I imagine, I strike some kind of strange balance, but it makes it really difficult to know who I am. I have trouble seeing the “both-and.” I have trouble seeing the multitudes contained as part of a cohesive whole.

Poetry prompts online: An updated list

People either love prompts or they hate ’em. I’m clearly a big fan. I’ve been using, writing and sharing prompts like these since my earliest days networking online. And here are nearly 30 links to hundreds of poetry prompts online!

3 poems inspiring me right now to write / #amreading #amwriting

Since I’m working on my blog this month — and since I have been writing and sharing poetry prompts my whole life as a poet online — I decided to pull some of the poems I’ve read recently together with the poetry prompts / writing assignments they’re generating. It’s something I’d like to do regularly. So here’s the possibly first list of many: 3 poems inspiring me right now to write!

Do you feel like a successful poet? 7 ways to cope in the meantime

It’s important to find happiness and satisfaction in poetry activities that do not revolve around notices of acceptance. Here are 7 ways to cope (thrive, even!) when you get stuck thinking in terms of success and failure. As a bonus, they make you both a better poet and a better literary citizen.

How do I start this day?

It’s easy to believe that loss is what makes us who we are. But when I consider the kindness and generosity people have shared with me, my body feels different. What if I could trace light as the through thread?

Connection as magnificent and treacherous wilderness

What’s sticking with me post-hike is what’s left: the tracks, the station and a few poles presumably for electricity. It has me thinking about how we’re connected to one another and to wilderness and how being connected to one another is its own magnificent — and treacherous — wilderness.

Congrats, bees: You’re endangered

On my fridge, I have a photo of my son from 13 or 14 years ago holding a baby chick. He’s seated in a chicken coop, cupped hands like a nest. Small as he is, the chick is even smaller. I read on his face a budding capacity for wonder and gratitude. This creature is so precious, and I have the chance to hold it. *I* do. *Me.*