A Poet’s Release

Unraveling words that speak, an exhalation that saves me before suffocating in the thick folds of life…what  I can’t escape becomes like woolen drapes enclosing a cramped space, and I stare into  that darkness until some part of me breaks, a release that pulls me out into the airy translucence of sun where all poetryContinue reading “A Poet’s Release”

Blank Page

This empty space, a white light reminding  me to write something,  express some thought,  forge a poem by linking  words to form an image,  evoke a memory,  connect emotion  to some bright spot  of my everyday,  but this morning  the curser blinks  incessantly,  and I sit, uninspired,  and that becomes my only offering. —C.L. Fisher,Continue reading “Blank Page”

Poets

Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance. — Carl Sandburg There are poets because pain and joy are intangible  but real, manifestations  that can sometimes  sound like mud or feel like purple. —C.L. Fisher, March 2021 Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and mayContinue reading “Poets”

Alpha-Breath

The Lord merely spoke, and the heavens were created. He breathed the word, and all the stars were born. —Psalm 33:6, NLT Poetry has always ever-been since  in the beginning breathed the Alpha-Breath. —C.L. Fisher, December 2020 Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may notContinue reading “Alpha-Breath”

Finding Poetry

I find it in the spilling autumn  leaves, the harvesting of apples, the ladybug clinging to clover,  the lavender dawning on a new horizon, the fire of one lone star sparking through a cloudy dusk — the moment my heart knew beauty was created by God, at that instance, I knew poetry. —C.L. Fisher, October 2020 Unless otherwise indicated, allContinue reading “Finding Poetry”

Life

Fragmented speeches, flashes of faces; bits and pieces, scattered traces; pauses to consider a slant of light,  the bend of limbs in a leafless tree, a morning song of a lonely thrush,  the final brilliance of a setting sun — all forms of poetry— sighs, stutters, whisperings; running breathlessly, rest and rapid spurts, laughter, tears,Continue reading “Life”