Category: poem
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(Originally posted Feb. 14, 2018) Whether with dread or welcome, we find ourselves at Valentine’s Day yet again. It’s a challenging day to teach creative writing to undergraduates. In teaching my students to notice what works best in their own poems, they’ve started already (three weeks in) to recognize the lasting appeal of love poems…
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We’re all adding brushstrokes to a much larger mural than any one of us can hold
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These winter Sundays, when snow mounds, temperatures plummet, and spirits sag a bit, I renew my appreciation of spirit lifters, chief among which are the Women of Mass Dissemination, my writers’ group of the past decade. We meet monthly, go on a weekend retreat twice a year to write, and hold each others’ multicolor…
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“So real it sears my hands, this / drawing, Celtic oak of two minds . . . .”
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Hy-Brasil / by Kathleen McCoy in memory of Carole Dunson Moreau A big-hearted brainy broad born to be a teacher went to bed last night and never rose again, yet the sun dares shine without her. Chocolate turns to sand, to salt, to silt and still the earth is green. Hands must stroke the open…
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Part of the risk and exhilaration-cum-embarrassment of writing daily and posting daily for the 30/30 Project is the sudden realization (after hours of drafting and editing) that two more tweaks would make a huge difference in your fledgling poem-child. Here’s today’s post, with alterations. If you’d like to support this nonprofit endeavor, please go to…
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in memory of Eva Leah Robinson McCoy Bite into the apple of love, enjoy its juice and let the seeds fall all around you. ~ Lips and hands must measure before they dispense their wares. ~ Set an extra plate for an unexpected guest— someday it could be you. ~ What you most despise in…
The Real McCoy 