Articles About First Lines
In this month’s poem, villager Janeal Turnbull Ravndal meditates on marriage, aging and the loss of balance, leading to new forms of grace.
What do objects want? This month’s poem by Reilly Dixon enters the world of objects.
What happens to those who came before us also happens to us. In a poem by villager Maxine Skuba, world history and personal history touch hands.
This month’s poems come from longtime villager Rubin Battino, who has been writing three-line poems for decades. “We hit it off,” he said of the short form, his own adaptation of haiku.
“There’s just no accounting for happiness,” begins a poem I love by Jane Kenyon. Happiness in this poem is a gift, a grace.
Spring. We become aware of it not just by the calendar, but more viscerally by signs. By firsts.
There is enormous freedom in a poem. It is the same freedom found within the human mind.
Mary Oliver died two weeks ago. I’m not sure I’ve ever cried that much for the loss of someone I didn’t know.
For friends and poets Anne Randolph and Mary Donahoe, poetry was a natural part of the women’s bond. This month’s column presents a poem by each: “Mary’s Garden,” by Randolph, and “Carolina Wren,” by Donahoe.
The News is launching a monthly poetry column, “First Lines.” Each month, we’ll publish a poem written by a local poet.