A Confluence: Poetry and Jazz by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist April shares her great transformation with poetry and jazz. Some committee somewhere designated April National Poetry AND National Jazz month. April has to share her pink spears of peonies, plum blossoms and crinkled rhubarb with CarlContinue Reading
Find Your Own Voice by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist The title for this column comes from a musician of profound ability and charisma, Amit Peled. Mr. Peled is professor of music at The Peabody Conservatory of Music, at John Hopkins University. As a teacher, Mr. PeledContinue Reading
The Sound of Words by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist Sound is the gold in the ore of poetry. ~ Robert Frost The sound of the poem is as important as the text. ~ Robert Bly Being lost in soundContinue Reading
Opened by Wonder by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist My niece sent me a postcard with these words on the front: “I’d rather have a mind opened by WONDER, than one closed by belief.” Karen lives in Denver, CO, a good place for wondering. I’m going toContinue Reading
by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist More Is Too Much We are in the season of excess: more! more! more! Excess is what it is… too much. Remember Halloween? In a word: excessive. Thanksgiving? Ditto. NOW here comes Santa Claus, polar bears, train sets, tinsel, elves, blue-and-silverContinue Reading
by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Magazine Poetry Editor/Columnist An Oasis of Peace I spent four October days in St. Paul, MN. I taught writing classes at Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality. My cello went with me, and together we sang Pablo Casal’s Song of the Birds, and an AppalachianContinue Reading
by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Poetry Editor/Columnist Nesting Dolls Oksana, my Russian daughter-in-law gave me a set of nesting dolls last Christmas. There are five of them. They nestle inside one another, enveloped by the largest doll. I take them out and line them up. I put them backContinue Reading
by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Poetry Editor/Columnist See If You Can Stop A poet thrust his poems into Robert Frost’s hands. “Mr. Frost, should I go on writing?” Frost replied, “Well, see if you can stop.” During August I came upon/was gifted/surprised by the work of some poets youContinue Reading
by Carol Pearce Bjorlie, Rapid River Poetry Editor/Columnist Go Fish Woods were my father’s sanctuary. Where a small tributary trickled into the James River, he sat on the bank still as a monk, his fishing rod at attention. The line pierced the surface of the water, the worm lurked inContinue Reading
