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“The Machinist, Teaching His Daughter to Play the Piano,” by B. H. Fairchild from The Art of the Lathe
I love this poem from B. H. Fairchild’s 1998 The Art of the Lathe. When I read it, I get chills–goose-bumps always tell me something more is up than I can know. For me, in such a deep way, this poem describes my father–his delicacy, his competence, his depth and no-need-to-speak-it kinship with spirit. For…
Corey Blake, “Chairman of the Dream” keynote speech at Missouri Writers Guild Conference, Columbia, Missouri
Writers of the Round Table is a call to action. Corey Blake leads leaders. After decades of experience in the film business, Corey Blake transferred these concepts to the world of developing writers and producing books. Corey Blake is a Dream Producer. To the group of writers assembled at the Missouri Writers Guild Conference in…
“I Remember”–the nurse & the visiting schoolmate
The Nurse Remembers I remember the first meeting, as we signed her up…being in silence as I took her vitals and did the paperwork. Her cancer was so large when we found it, you could see it in her breast. We talked about her pain. I remember when she first was wheeled in to the…
Triptych: Jeweled Bones, Right Panel: Jewels Under Glass–Flash Fiction in Three parts by Janet Grace Riehl
This flash fiction of 3 parts, or panels, was originally published in The Portland Review. I’m posting it on Riehlife in three parts. “Triptych: Jeweled Bones” links to an on-going theme of how the land nurtures us as writers and creative people. Arletta Dawdy found inspiration in this piece and I’ll be posting her story-poem…
“Rainbow Vortex,” a poem by Janet Grace Riehl
In a workshop on sacred space, I drew a rainbow vortex, holding 4-6 crayons in my hand at a time. I loved that part. Then, looking at my crayon drawing, I wrote this letter to the rainbow vortex. Later I cut the vortex into a spiral and pasted it into my journal, folding in switchbacks…
“Starlight”–a poem
“Evergreen Heights,” has nurtured six generations since the 1860s. Five of these generations produced poets. My father is now compiling a family poetry anthology from the works of these five generations. STARLIGHT Stars wink high in the sky, as dawn draws on sun reaps the sky. When she is done colors blaze as she pulls…