Cold now. Close to the edge. Almost unbearable. Clouds bunch up and boil down from the north of the white bear. This tree-splitting morning I dream of his fat tracks, the lifesaving suet. I think of summer with its luminous…
Cold now. Close to the edge. Almost unbearable. Clouds bunch up and boil down from the north of the white bear. This tree-splitting morning I dream of his fat tracks, the lifesaving suet. I think of summer with its luminous…
This is a poem written to me 10 years ago, by the poet Chuck Sullivan © Zen Matchbox 2008, Rag Street Press. Worth remembering. Chance Meeting Its Match for Charlotte I remembered you before I knew you before I knew…
Poets and Painters inspire each other. Mary Oliver’s poetry is my intimate companion. This is a painting about Edisto Island, South Carolina, our small undeveloped barrier island, the last sea island in South Carolina and one that has escaped the…