#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

I'm pleased to have a poem, "Triple Bypass," published today in Rockvale Review, including a mention by editor Yasmin Kloth's in her intro letter to Issue Seven: "The beauty of the poems in Issue Seven is their ability to find the quiet corners of their—and by extension our—overturned worlds. There is the world of despair found at the end of “Triple Bypass,” where the whisper of five words:

wake up

say my name

is surrounded by the quiet white space of the line break; where poet Kelly DuMar puts all her fear and sense of urgency."

And I'm honored that Sandy Coomer's stunning art, "Heartbeat," is featured with my poem, and her artist statement is so poignant: "This is the heart in its chamber, tucked into its holy space between the lungs, within the ribs. From there, it rules the body's rhythms."

Fell asleep, last night, to the storm of rain and wind outside my window. Alternating between the lulling virtues of a lullaby and an anxiety ridden creaking of tree limbs near the house. And then, I walked, this morning, in the peace filled aftermath, sun shining through the wet. Monday morning. I was tired for no good reason. But the morning and the day, with sunshine, brightened my mood, and I kept busy. Including drafting a poem from the letters. I wasn’t sure about the totality of it. And, after our poetry workshop this evening, still not sure. But there are parts of it I like. And I didn’t work on the new poem that I hope to have ready by Thursday, but I had a strong impulse, an insight, an inkling for going to further into it. I was happiest today, with my image of the rain dropped pastel colored leaf. My delight was in finding such an un-Novembery, cheerful color; the back of a common leaf by the brook. Last night, as I listened to the rain, I imagined all the alive things in the dark getting soaked while I was dry under my covers. I wondered if the deer found dry, secret, sheltered places for bedding, and hoped they did. Frank said, this morning he saw a big buck crossing our meadow.

Can you join me Wed. night, Nov. 18? Register here - bring a photo to write from!