We Are Wilderness: John Muir
In these fearfully uncertain times, when “self-isolating” and “social distancing” send us into defensive self-protection, the wise and wild words of Muir echo through the fresh, healthy mountain air. As…
Happy Heretic, Friendly Freethinker
In these fearfully uncertain times, when “self-isolating” and “social distancing” send us into defensive self-protection, the wise and wild words of Muir echo through the fresh, healthy mountain air. As…
Now and then I post a poem–or hang a poem on this post. This one was composed, composted, in one of my favorite sanctuaries: Point Reyes National Seashore in Northern…
I don’t write much poetry any more, and I never liked rhyming much, but here’s something in honor of the new season. Because sometimes poetry is the best language, if…
Very meaningful visit to the great poet’s home and gravesite in Camden, NJ. Original items in the house include Walt’s rocking chair and writing desk.
Whitman was born 200 years ago this month (May 31, 1819). Today’s column in the Citizen-Times (page one; page two) presented his resounding voice as it needs to be heard, calling…
I don’t write many of these things called “poems.” In part inspired by the loss of Mary Oliver yesterday, I re-post this piece from a few years ago. The Silent…
Mary Oliver’s poetry was scattered through years of my chaplaincy, often read by a person on the street at a memorial for one of their friends. I think it…