Good morning Toby and all,
I'm new to the site and just finished "Writing The Mind Alive." I've just started PW and excited about the possibilities.
Toby....I'm also a poet and look forward to seeing what you will do with PW and poetry.
I'm sorry I'm not seeing more dialogue here but look forward to your responses here.
I'm in the process of writing a poem on the outdoor lighted pine tree that my mother planted as a tribute to her life. A blue spruce that she planted on a knowl. Hopefully I'll capture a picture of it after an early snow fall.
Anyway, I'm excited about the possibilities. Thank you. Hermitess...Mary

Hello Mary--

Maybe if we just continue our conversation more folks will join us. I'm finishing work now with a person who will be here soon. Just one note on poetry. When I teach From PW to Poetry, I always start with the Write, and help students locate the "heat" of the Write, that thought or image or metaphor that carries the most emotional information. That begins an associative prorcess that eventually leads to a draft, or a poem, or some interesting fragments--but it all begin with emotion/the heart

Morning Toby,
I'm going to ramble a bit. My way of starting I guess. I've come back to upstate N.Y. after spending two years in the southwest. I live in the heart of country and farm communities. What has surprised me enormously is the beauty and peacefullness that has come with the scenery. It is as though I never saw it before. I'm still perplexed by it. I've intently watched the seasons change. It is almost a meditation. If by late morning I haven't spent time quietly looking at what lies in the hillside and distance, the morning is incomplete. Or I am not complete. Needless to say I love nature and I draw my spirituality from nature. Most of my poetry uses nature as a focal point. I'm hoping with the start of PW that I can draw more out of my poetry. In short, I've looked but haven't listened to mind or thought.
Toby....you referenced Carruth (sp). Is this the gentleman from Syracuse? I've enjoyed a copy of one of his books of poetry. Very earthy and simple but beautiful. Mary

Mary--
Years ago Carruth edited a wonderful antholgy, The Voice That is Great Within Us and more recently a book of poems Scrambled Eggs & Whiskey, which won the National Book Award. In the July/August issue of The American Poetry Review (2004) there is some of his recent work and an interesting essay on him. I like him a lot--very strong and direct, and subtle in an unassuming way. He has some years on him. Do you have any particular favorite poets?

I can't believe i just lost my post! It appears time ran out. Anyway, in response tro your question, I believe Adrienne Rich is probably my favorite contemporary poet. Bill Moyer's book on poetry re-introduced me to the joy of poetry but more importantly, to writing poetry. It was a challenging time in my life and I started writing as a therapeutic tool. It was a way to release feelings and emotions. Perhaps I'll submit one or two over the weekend.
Toby.....how does one partake in your poetry conference? I might be interested at some point. Mary

Mary--

Right now I'm working (in poetry) in a private, tutorial mode. Later I'll see if I can get a group together. . . You can ceretainly use this site to post some of your poems. Maybe I'l do the same, but not for awhile. We are heading out to California for a week's teaching at Esalen. "Talk with you week of the 15th.
Toby

Mary, why not post one of your poems? Who knows wher it can go--a poetry conversation? a place to present something you are working on? . . .

So many of us have educational stories about how our feelings for poetry were systematically killed off.

To quote myself, we were poets before we weren't!

Toby....I've played with the cookies setting and perhaps this will get through. Have tried to post a poem all week. Hope you get this. Mary

"Sonora Wasteland"

Mica flecks, a child's thrill at richness.
Parched desert soil further tarnished with the waning day.
Heat dissipating.
Waking life.

The working sounds of night.
No longer distinguishable with the naked eye.
Mans genetic flaw.

Prairie dogs released from imprisioned burrows,
sitting on haunches, scurrying from knoll to knoll,
frenetic in their movements.

Unsuspecting prey, relaxing from the day time heat,
soon to be nocturnal feed.

New movement designs the desert floor.
Life side-winds its way and preys with paralyzing force.

With cautious steps, I side-step a desert rose
emblazoned with the setting sun.
Grace and beauty in the sonora wasteland.
************************************************************

Your poem brought back (reminded me) of my love of the desert. How delicately all life forms are inter-related and the kind of awesome beauty that creates. Liked especially, "New movement designs the desert floor."

Mary, here's something I finished a few years ago:

Lyric


And so when I shake your hand
touch your shoulder, kiss your lips
I shall not forget
our moment could be the beat of Time
drumming up some two-step
that forever makes of us
memories in each other's hearts.