The waves don’t ask forgiveness, don’t wait for your pain—
they just keep rolling, steady and wild again…
Poetry Blog
The waves don’t ask forgiveness, don’t wait for your pain—
they just keep rolling, steady and wild again…
Today’s prompt took me somewhere unexpected. Back to childhood, to the sounds of playgrounds and sidewalks, to those simple rhymes we used to chant without thinking. Clapping hands, skipping rope, counting nonsense into something that felt like magic. There’s a kind of music in that—something …
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Monday comes whether we welcome it or not, but during NaPoWriMo, even the start of the workweek carries a different weight—something lighter, stranger, more willing to bend. Today’s prompt leans into that looseness, taking a cue from Louise Glück and the idea that truth in …
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Sunday settles in, and NaPoWriMo turns toward something sharper—something almost playful in its irritation. Borrowing from the spirit of Catullus and even the grumbling honesty of Charles Darwin, today’s prompt invites us to exaggerate our dislikes, to take something small and make it thunder. Here’s …
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Friday finds us at Day 3 of NaPoWriMo, where each prompt asks us to see the familiar from a different angle. Today’s challenge invites us to reshape a profession—to strip away the polished image and reveal something truer, rougher beneath it. This piece is my …
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April opens its doors, and with it I step into the quiet ritual of NaPoWriMo—a month of daily poems, of dusting off memory and letting it speak in its own weathered voice. Today’s challenge turns back toward childhood, toward those early moments that quietly foretold …
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April arrives… and with it, National Poetry Month. But this year, I’m not just writing—I’m revisiting. Welcome to Whiskey and Words: The Book Tour. All month long, I’ll be sharing pieces from Whiskey and the Autumn Wind and Whiskey and the Winter Wind—two seasons, two …
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Whiskey and the Winter Wind is not a departure from Whiskey and the Autumn Wind-it is the reckoning that follows. The same soul remains, seated at the same worn wooden table, a glass still within reach, but the world beyond the window has shifted. Where autumn once …
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