Tag Archives: Brevity

Under the comet

neowise from SBAToday C/2020 F3 (a.k.a. NEOWISE) is a mere 64 million miles from Earth on its way through the solar system. It can be seen (weather and light conditions permitting) in the northern hemisphere, though I haven’t been so fortunate. Photo courtesy of Susanna Barricklow-Arvin. (Thanks, cuz!)


I found this poem in a post by Jason Thayer on Brevity’s non-fiction blog. I wasn’t looking for a poem; I read the post intent on trying out the single-sentence prose form it describes. But the poem wouldn’t let me write anything else until I found it, like a toddler determined to play hide-and-seek regardless of the circumstances.

(after Jason Thayer)

in the morning I see our neighbor
swim her sadness, isolation
knowing hers alone

with loss comes communication
I could not stop wondering
what, how long, whether

there were days she didn’t look
across ill-defined property
the big dark house

walk past my window
if I linger too long
my eyes well




When you can’t write

Today’s post at Brevity is timely because a lot of creatives I know are struggling (though others are finding plenty of inspiration in these strange circumstances). Sometimes we are so eager to mine our experiences for creative potential that we neglect to live them first, kind of missing the point.


Jilted by the muse
after Sarah Eshleman

But I tell you: do not write
about the experience
— not yet. Let go
your feverish pursuit
of instant transcendence
and ready inspiration.

Silence holds its own
substance and purpose.
Delay is essential
as momentum, and motion
does not equal progress.

We live now and divine
significance later, rarely
absorbing the full weight
of a moment within itself.


spirea may

Something that wasn’t killed by the freeze

Day 23, NaPoWriMo 2020

This is a found poem from Kelly Thompson’s post on Brevity: https://brevity.wordpress.com/2020/04/23/come-together/

Speaking from the sixties

“The world is acting like it’s going to lose us,” I said.
His smile was wry. As was mine.
Tender wry.
“Well, they’re losing us anyway,” he said.

No, I won’t die for capitalism, for Trump, for Wall Street.
I would for my girls, for my grandbabies.
But for consumerism? For the lie that there is not enough?
Not a chance.

Like my husband said, “You will lose us anyway.”
We are in the third act.
Age is a construct and so is time.
But death is not.


2020 National Poetry Month Poster-50