Margaret Coombs

Eight bright postcards wait in a packet on my desk They resemble each other On one side: an address and a brief poem On the other: a marimekko design of bright dots, animals, fruits, or flowers I will photograph both sides of each recording the spontaneous poems that burst from my pen onto cardboard stock…

Now that it’s summer, now that I’m not only retired, but without a religious affiliation, perhaps life has become too small for creativity. This house. This life–my life, whose episodes and experiences no longer seem unique, fresh, interesting. Every day I read what people write and realize they know how to do this work, this…

I haven’t forgotten my responsibilities to this blog. I grew weary of posting my unrevised poems and thoughts in April. Though my participation in the poem-a-day challenge meant that I wrote numerous poems, which is something to celebrate, posting them on the blog was too public a way to go about it. Even if only…

During April I wrote a small poem or a prose poem or some jumbled thoughts every day, posting them here. I removed most of them from public view–they were raw drafts, with emphasis on raw.

Those arresting moments of light and darkness in my life that mystify and fascinate me– does anyone know for certain that this earth, this time is all we have? Artists and humanists sometimes share concepts they call quantum physics, indicating a universe beyond yet of us. I don’t trust their translation of it, or my…