Poetry

The Book of Kells

Here, there’s no circle, only the spiral, endlessly turning back on itself. No straight lines, only curves, coiling, looping. There’s no direct path to the Kingdom of Heaven; it’s circuitous, echoing the barrow graves of Newgrange, indecipherable swirls, zigzags, lozenges.…
Poetry

Complaints from Medieval Scribes

a found poem  Imagine sitting for hours at a slant desk, copying on rough parchment with a sharpened quill, day after lonely day. Of course you’d be tempted to write in the margins: “That’s a hard page and a weary…
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Gold

JANUARY 2012: POETRY by Barbara Crooker   The goldenrod's tarnished and dull, gone to rust, as the Dow Jones plummets like the mercury on a January night, echoing Frost's warning that nothing gold can stay. Not the birch leaves that…
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Poetry by Barbara Crooker

AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2008: POETRY by Barbara Crooker Prayer in Autumn Turn me to gold, Lord, burnish me; strip me of chlorophyll, all those green thoughts. Let me brown and dry, crisp as old vellum; let me sail a long way across…