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Posted by / 13-Oct-2020 17:18

He says that I am turning him into a Maine nature poet, and this poem is from a ‘poetry walk’ I lead at Beech Hill Preserve in Rockport.” As I walked up the path of Beech Hill Preserve I kept thinking of the snail of Issa climbing Mount Fuji, till a sharp stone warned my left foot Don’t step on me, else you will trip.

As far as the eye could roam the land was many shades of green flecked with red and yellow, white and blue, was countless kinds of trees and shrubs, pine and oak, spruce and maple, raspberries, blueberries and honeysuckle; with their mouths pressed to the ground, they blossomed and multiplied, without gadgets, despite the pompous popish names, Populus grandidentata, Pinus strobus, Quercus prinus. Only the trunks of trees seem to grasp this tongue.

He has published poetry, fiction, plays, children’s books, and non-fiction, and is the online editor for Incomer, a new Maine magazine from Maine’s immigrant communities.” “April is National Poetry Month, and we celebrate it with a poem from Zainab Almatwari.

Zainab came to Maine from Basrah, Iraq and is a sophomore at Westbrook High School.

I want to smell of unwashed skin and grow to hate my fellow man. This poem is from a longer series of poems about her journey.” It’s quiet in Darfur. Maybe if I wanted a teddy bear I could find out how much it costs or if I wanted a record or a blouse. Gary Lawless, who was awarded the 2017 Constance H.Carlson Public Humanities Prize, has long worked to bring poetry and the creative process to the people of Maine.I want someone to kill me for the things that I’ve become. The things that Billy did say are irrelevent, because he’s dead, killed by the hero of the town. It’s not the silence of peace, but it’s the silence of death. My homes that once carried histories of generations are now burned ashes on the ground waiting for the wind to blow them to their final destination.

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Each side of the floor had a trough of open water, emerald-green water, like the brackish water off Porters Landing in summer – diving deep into cold black, arching spines to a sun-shafted surface…. This poem is from their book ‘Spindleworks Journey’.” Draw an apartment house and paint it blue and white. We published a book of writing from that group, called ‘Words from the curbs,’ and this poem is from that book.” When Billy turned five and started school the teacher asked “What do you want to be when you grow up? “Mihku is a Maliseet writer and visual artist who grew up on the Penobscot River. They say he knew water transformation; it gives life.

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