Gratitude of Resistance Twenty-Three:
Poetry. November always feels a little frantic because I add writing a poem a day to my schedule. I have been doing this for so many years that by now, I would feel lost and bereft if I didn’t do this. It’s part of what holds me to my true purpose. I love teaching, and I feel like I belong in this job with these students and these colleagues at this time in my life. But I have chosen Poet as my identity, and whether or not my poetry ever makes an impression in the world, I would no longer be able to do my other work without it. November and April and summer always bring me back to poetic center.
May we walk in Beauty!
Mockingbird Chronicles 
Yes!
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“Whether or not my poetry makes an impression on the world” is, IMHO, what makes poetry. We have no need of an instrument, per se — a voice or a blank page and a pen (or cursor and keypad) will do. No stage, no microphone, even, no camera, no props, no marble, clay, bronze, canvas, oils, or acrylics, keep your linseed and your dust, your rust, your kiln is killin’ me, all that heat and care and maybe, if you’re lucky, it won’t crack — Jack, I’m Raku, I’m baked and crazed every inch, if not clear through, I have been to the mountains of Kathmandu and sailed the oceans blue with desperation and anguish and still never failed to see the beauty in them, and that, and, need I mention it, you.
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