For fathers and paper boats, from The Spirit Level.
from The Flight Path / by Seamus Heaney
A dove rose in my breast
Every time my father’s hands came clean
With a paper boat between them, ark in air,
The lines of it as taut as a pegged tent
poetry, publishing, and mentoring
A periodic, open discussion of particular poems
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from lined paper, to Royal, to Smith Corona, to floppy disk, to 1TB hard drive...it's all a result of the passing wind.
Writer & Visual Artist
Reading Around The World
A blog about books, writing and mental health
a journal of contemporary poetry
Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.
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"I am offering this poem to you, since I have nothing else to give." ~Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 