Nov
06
2024

Articles About First Lines

  • First Lines — Many human hearts

    “Completing the harvest” of two years of poetry columns in the News, a final column of thanks to poets and readers. Eighteen local and regional poets have appeared in this space.

  • First Lines — Perfect as they are

    A newly eclosed monarch butterfly hung near its now-transparent burst chrysalis, gathering its strength to fly. Other chrysalids waited for the magic event to seize them. This particular monarch was the first one raised this season on the author’s North High Street porch. (Photo by Audrey Hackett)

    We have bugs on our porch. Lots of them. Not just the usual ants and spiders — but monarch butterflies, in all stages of their lives.

  • First Lines — What remains

    In the July column, a delicate and image-rich poem by Delaware, Ohio, poet Kip Knott. What is our place in the world? Can the question be transcended, or better — simply let go?

  • First Lines — Heart of compassion

    Amid the turmoil on Earth, have you looked at the stars? Villager Tim Morand contributes this month’s poem, a meditation on compassion, the shifts in human life and the grandeur of the night sky.

  • First Lines — Staggered

    This month, this strange month, this unforgettable month, has been in some ways so sweet. This sweet world is as much the world as the frightening one is. April’s poetry column, written from lockdown, with a poem by column editor Audrey Hackett.

  • First Lines — ‘Underground river of poetry’

    The poetry of spring is gushing forth — the poetry of eternal spring, and the poetry of this strange spring, virus-tossed, virus-laced. A visionary poem by villager Robert Paschell, from the March column.

  • First Lines — An ‘old soul’ poem

    Were you an “old soul” as a child? You may find yourself seen and understood by villager Ben Cronin’s delicate poem, from the February column.

  • First Lines — ‘And the heart calls me …’

    Who am I, really? A contemplative poem by villager Khara Scott-Bey explores self-definition to the edges of identity, and beyond.

  • First Lines — JOY JOY JOY

    A poem from a former villager, the late Jean Barlow Hudson. Strange, dreamlike, filled with somberness and joy, Jean’s poem helps us welcome the turning of the year.

  • First Lines — Poetry of the sleeping breath

    Eternity sleeps. (Photo by Matt Minde)

    The voice of the dog. Simple, straightforward. And then, like a child who speaks an uncanny truth, soulful. Two “poems for dogs” from villager Artie Isaac.

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