The Dance

The day arrives blaming no one. The sky wipes its face - forgets. Sparrows delight the earth. A hawk swoops. Death dances. Blood spills - the living rejoice. Under the busy sod bones grow lighter, an enriched soil knits more grass.

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Caren Krutsinger

Date: 9/26/2019 11:25:00 AM

Please tell me you have been saving up these gems in a fifty year span!

Eric Ashford
Date: 9/26/2019 12:12:00 PM

So I keep everything, and return to edit what I deem has some potential. This allows me to maybe edit a few poems each and post em. I have a lot of stuff that will, thankfully, never see the light of day. Also, I spent decades writing very bad poetry to get to where I am (not suggesting I an a great poet or anything). Like you, I write every day, and poetry has been for a long time, central to my life. Hope this explains.

Eric Ashford
Date: 9/26/2019 12:11:00 PM

Thanks again Caren, I'm glad you asked that question. I do have poetry files that go back some years now - not fifty! I think of my poetry as a process. I rarely get a poem down perfect first try. - More-