Poets, and writers in general, write from their own lives, their own experiences. How we are shaped as individuals is reflected, consciously or unconsciously, in what we write. A Godless Ascends, the 2024 collection by Trish Hopkinson, kept punching that home in my head as I read.
Shew rites about her family, her childhood, and herself. She writes about her mother and her father. She says this about her father: “Truth is, / my dad’s book closed before he learned / to read, so he bult a burning house instead / & when a thief offered him gold, he didn’t fight or turn to run / but swallowed it whole, carried it like lead in his throat.” That may at first sound cruel or uncharitable, but it is precise, a daughter weighing what she finally understands.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Some Tuesday Readings
Bathing – poem by Sonja Bnskin Mesher.
“The Village Blacksmith” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – Kelly Keller at On the Common.
Waiting at Life’s Window: R.S. Thomas’s “The Word” – Alexander Fayne.
Blankets & Boston Terriers: Interview with Tania Runyan – Tweetspeak Poetry.
Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.
Under the Harvest Moon – poem by Carl Sandburg at Every Day Poems.
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