Still Life by Katie Ford

Still Life

Down by the pond, addicts sleep on rocky grass half in water, half out, / and there the moon lights them / out of tawny silhouettes into the rarest / of amphibious flowers I once heard called striders,  / between, but needing, two worlds. / Of what can you accuse them now, beauty?




I’m Here So My Own Head Won’t Kill Me

Hello out there!  Whee! I’m here on WordPress because as every writer knows writing can be is a lonely business.  Especially for an introvert like me.  And, even though the first reason (like I need a reason, for instance, to breath) I write is because I can’t not write, I’m also here because I write to be read.  And, I’m here to get better at all aspects of writing, including the discipline to sit my ass down and for-god’s-sake write. I can get a little weird from my self-imposed isolation.  I’m a divorced 57-year-old retired female with a few close friends (who are also on the introverted side), and a grown flew-the-coop son. I may go a couple of days without talking to anyone but the mailman and my cat.  I need other writers to “talk” to, a writing community.  You’re it. I want one of my poems in The New Yorker.  That’s also why I’m here. There, I said it. That’s my ultimate readership goal. Hey!  I have a plan, okay? That being said, I have to get around to writing a post about why I now refuse to read The New Yorker (the reason is socio-political). And I’m here to practice my writing, and get better.  For instance, I still struggle with semicolons; that fact makes me nuts. I’ve read how to use them, and the difference between them and colons and I still can’t get it.  At least on the one hand I feel so dense that it makes me laugh. I’m a writer trying to get better by writing, I don’t care how ungraceful I look while I’m doing it, and I need some help and some good company along the way.