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64 years old from

The latest comments that jim has written.

For Zach--39 Years And You're Gone

I'm so sorry, Kathy. This is the saddest face of life's struggle.

My condolences, and hard as must have been to write, thank you for sharing your thoughts,



Good images in both poems, and an economical use of descriptors.

Lunatic Factory

I agree with Ashe. We're all a little looney. Or, a lot.

Watching you sleeping by Ann Wood

It is good acknowledge the wonderful things in life. You do it so well, with graciousness.

fault lines

This is fine, and could easily be put to music.

It's nice to see your words again. Welcome back : )

furry philosophers (tanka)

art imitates life imitates art!

Being There

Perhaps this a cautionary tale of words said in the glow of new love.

Forgive me for you by Ann Wood

Amazing poem, Ann.


You make 40 sound diabolically old, but there is grace and humor in your self-realizing lines.

Having Fun

What a picture!

Hart Crane

I can understand your love of H. C., loving language as you do. I stumble into his world, taking a few steps before sighing and closing the book as hopeless. It is my loss, I know it. I would love to get lost in the words, but I merely get lost.

I'll comment on "Lament" later, I have to begin this day.

The heart of the watermelon by Danka Todorova-translate by Ann Wood

I love this so much, it is melancholy and true and makes me feel like life can be so rich and so painful and so deep. Thank you for translating this gentle story.

Maybe To Mars

At least it was fun!

The Birds

After reading this poem and "You," I feel sated, as after a fine dinner, and dessert too rich, or, just rich enough, just right. (I write this to the sound of morning birdsong.)

At the Start of the evening Trail race

ominous ~

and excellent.


very nice! lots of relatable images, but i know the reality cannot be imagined. much see to appreciate, but i like the bribes and slippers.

Come Home Little Man

This is a fine poem in every way.

In Praise of Coloured Bottles

So true, and a good poem. We called it "beach glass." Now, yes, plastic litter. It's awful.

In the woods I still find a blue or green or brown bottle, ages old, broken or unbroken, testament to lives that came and went.

Life in the nursing home by Ann Wood

You always write clearly and sincerely. My closest friend is in a home with dementia. There are no activities. It is heartbreaking.

Lion in a Hat

I think it works both ways, too. With the first line it's a little more personal, you give us an insight into what you're seeing.

Sometimes Finds Me Feeling

me too, but i could never say it so well ~

racism in villages

It comes down to individual cases.

Calf injury

I hear you. I've had many calves with injuries. They bawl for mama most pathetically.


i wonder if you knew that you would answer your own question when you began this poem.

it's a good question.


i hadn't thought of the intuition-intelligence link like this. it's interesting to think about the connection.
thank you for this.


Every child should have such memories, happy, priceless memories, each unique to their own locales.

Again, as in Miss Lucille, you've evoked a scene that feels familiar, though it was nothing like my own upbringing. It is very real. The only line that did come real for me is:

"Cowboy fantasy envisioned"

That became my reality.

Bahama Meditation

I am incredibly happy for you that you've found this blue paradise, and were able to put it into words for us. I am transported from this chilly, gray midwestern day . . . almost! I need to see it and feel it to believe it.

It's good to hear from you again. The last we heard was during a terrible, soul-shaking, storm.

Her Name is Lucille

You have brought Miss Lucille to life. If I didn't know her before, I know her now.

Tremendously evocative. I will be in the Kentucky hills next week. I will think of her.


Part of the problem is that people tend to WATCH the media, and not READ the media. They absorb, passively, what they see without critical thinking.


You write of elusive, yearning emotions with such subtlety and grace. This is poignant. It takes me to a place that feels just out of reach, to some better, perfect state of being, going from the antiseptic room to:

You want to taste the sea
inhale that scent of salt,
roll it over your tongue,
Imbibe of the earth
fresh mown grass,
the fragile one day bloom.

Just beautiful, and a little heartbreaking.

Looky kooky

Ground Control to Major LFD3, you are cleared for re-entry at your discretion.

Actually . . . may I join you?


I like this. Anyone who writes odes to ice cream is okay with me. This is well conceived and written. I like the images, and the way they reflect upon you as a person and writer. This is thoughtful without being indulgent, and the final stanza circles back to the beginning nicely. It feels complete. Well done (as always).

Women (appreciations for the Leo full moon)

I enjoyed this, and wonder if I, or any man, could write something along the same lines. I don't think so. Perhaps brothers in battle could, but nothing in my experience leads me to think there is a male equivalency, not is such sweeping terms.

Lucky you.

These lines gave me pause:

"When we hurt the feminine in ourselves
We hurt each other"

I'm not sure what is meant.


the benefits are myriad, but no more so than enjoying your flow of words.


Oh, aye—

"It is that
And more"

and yes, you were one.

After All Has Been Broken

Love is a plague disguised as bliss.

Alternative Information

you managed to write an interesting poem on truth (or lack thereof).

pace yourself, it will be a long four years. yesterday meant something, believe THAT.


maybe that is a good thing (to see only blue?) ~


Your poems reflect the light of ideas, they are unfailingly thought provoking.


A compelling expression of something very hard to express. Simple and powerful.

the news

and the moral is . . .



Times New Roman

To say this is ace is an understatement. A *tour de force* is coming closer. I am so intrigued by this, and so happy to get lost in it, and emerge—yeah, the final stanza is ace. Ace all around.

Bookmarked, obviously.

Dabo ~


Humankind is biologically meant to cycle through quickly, and in the scheme of time we do, no more that a fleeting, procreating life, then gone. Short term or long, we fail and fail again to solve problems. Ultimately, whatever the cosmos is or does will absorb the detritus that was us.

Still, we have will, and can and do solve problems, but death, that still comes despite all. Maybe Trump can make a deal with Death, I'm pretty sure I can't.

Ramblings 379

i've read this several times, now while listening to the music. it's a poem that is cryptic, though a sense of it does come through. i don't know the "horizontal" and "vertical" mean, and i'm intrigued. i do understand the last two lines, that is clear (or is it?).

Purposeful and Pure Dog Sense

Your writing conveys so much, so well, and with so much of your unique style.

These lines were powerful and timely:

"All live in accordance of harmony
When the leader remains strong"

Truly, it made me think we, all of humankind, have failed, become too complicated, too quick to willfully disregard what is good and natural.

This poem is about dogs, yes, but it, to me, is about potential—what we as a people, and we as individuals could be, or possibly can be.


This is well worth the wait, Elle—masterful and enjoyable, and all yours. Brava ~


I find this compelling. Thank you for the insight.

Hugging an Alligator

I don't know much about alligators, it was a croc that took Hook's hand, and a croc that gave Crocodile Dundee that love bite, but I do know this is a fun poem, and fair warning!


Suzanne's Dolly Gift

The gift of salvation came at five, and lasted a lifetime.

There is something wonderful in knowing this story is true, or a variation of true. It reads gently, and the rhymes give a sense of a children's story, appropriately. And then it reads like a nightmare. But the image of a 77 year old Suzanne reaching back to her five year old self is what lasts.