To savor the words of a living writer is one of the purest delights possible, in my opinion.
This morning, I'm reading the poetry of Phibby Venable, from a book just released, "Bones of a Generous Woman." Here are a few samples.
The Next Stone I Turn
The next stone I turn will be an apple
still lost in the memory of pink and white blossoms
soft with the overtaste of vinegar
vigorously holding to the solid ground
We will sit together in an acidic understanding
the gift of sweetness tinged with a tang
and a sodden forgiveness
The first blush will be something
we linger over without regret
each of us braced in original juicing
each of us lingering in the fortitude of trees,
staring without blindness
into the warm eyes of the sun.
There is the sound of the 3 am train
a black scream in a hurry to somewhere
the Hummingbird out of Nashville rushing
in a northward compass through the night
And I am dropping sleep to listen
to the steady power and shaking
of tracks that rumble to a steady decrease.........
..The people I pass are beloved, vague
as the blue fog that lifts angelic
across the moisture of the mountains
until I am one small passenger sitting
my eyes deer soft and waving.
I think this is what I enjoy most about Phibby's poems: her gentle observations, the chance to catch a glimpse of life in the Blue Mountains through her soft eyes.
The mountains held up the sky like pillars, releasing plumes of pebbles, streams and silt as far as my girlish eyes could follow, and w...
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