First recorded in the Historia Brittonum in the 9th century, awen is a Welsh word for what we might call poetic inspiration. It’s also interpreted as instinctive knowledge, a muse, a breeze, or a flow. Getting in the Flow Writers, musicians, and artists talk about getting “in the flow” when they’re doing their work. So … Continue reading Chasing Awen
I'm at a writing conference in Port Townsend, WA this weekend. The Snow Moon is full and so is Venus. There's even a comet. The high astronomical tide combined with intense wind gusts closed bridges and canceled ferry runs, so crossing the water to get here was a bit of a dance with celestial forces. … Continue reading Building the Stars
I occasionally feed peanuts to two crows who visit my apartment balcony. There's quite a large crow colony near the University of Washington in Seattle, and awhile ago I had the opportunity to go see some crow specimens that the researchers there were working with. I thought I'd get to see something like the interaction … Continue reading The Specimen
It was a basement smelling of musty books and sandalwood incense. I walked down carpeted stairs. Someone played an accordion in the corner. Eleven people sat cross-legged in a circle. There was an open spot for me. There were four hundred people on the hill wearing black. The rain fell steady. The police told them … Continue reading The Moon’s Dream
Or, what can happen when you give a cat a can of tuna in front of Trader Joe's. About 85% of this story actually happened. 🙂 ~ We started out strangers, but after I bought Bath-sheba a can of tuna, I learned all about her. She spoke through her servant, a human creature named Herman. … Continue reading Bath-sheba Who Flies
The Conium Review Vol. 5 Collector's Edition has arrived, and it's a thing of beauty! "The Solitude of Fruit" came in its own banana-embossed pamphlet.
I’m staring out my window, where Bast guards the sill. She is wise and has hips of knowing. Like all cats, she sees the other side. Beloved speaks into the phone. He is connected to his family. I feel disconnected, because I believe nothing. But I want to believe everything: every chirp and boom and … Continue reading Bast at the River
This is a place for experiments, musings, napkin poetry, and shower thoughts.