Feral Mom, Feral Writer

The lines of the boys of poetry filled my head this Valentine’s Day (Thomas, Arnold, Pablo). By dusk, in the glow of night approaching and ...

In spring of 2009, sculptor Sandy Frank and I started playing with the notion of putting poems on sculptures. I gave her a handful of poems...

Just a quick note to say I still have room in my month long on-line Transformative Blogging class that begins Monday, February 4 th . Deta...

All God’s angels come to us disguised…—James Russell Lowell ....and regardless of the mood we inhabit, in my case, an extreme case of g...

I’m honored to be heading into my second year of teaching Transformative Blogging for Women over at Story Circle Network—always a dynamic...

"Human soul, should it dream of me / Let my memory wakened be. / Moon, moon, oh do not wane…do not wane…” From Song of the Moon, excer...

woodcut by Peter Pryputniewicz The Witch’s fingers dug into the bark of the tree. She still could not see the girl’s face, just her st...