Monday Coffee: A poem and a promise

19th century tea- and coffee-cups anaglyphIn case you hadn’t heard about this, will send you a poem every day – all you have to do is sign up and you get an email with a new poem, every day.

It’s one of the best things I’ve ever signed up for online. There are days where my inbox is full of crud (to put it no higher) and knowing that there’s one beautiful thing in there makes all the difference.

Kasturba washing Gandhi s feetThis poem by David Kirby showed up today. It made me cry, like really – tears and everything – in part because I come from a family where we touch the feet of elders, but mostly because of this pair of lines:

So let this poem brush across the feet of anyone
who reads it. Poetry is
my religion—well, I wouldn’t die for it. I’d live for it, though.

I hope you enjoy the poem, too.

Wednesday, I will have the privilege of posting an interview with JC Cassels, author of Sovran’s Pawn  and the just-published sequel, Heroes End. She’s a great author, and (esp. if you’re a sci fi fan), you’ll enjoy hearing how she brought this story to life.

Thanks for stopping by!


5 thoughts on “Monday Coffee: A poem and a promise

  1. Ina, it is incredible that this poem reached me via your blog at my old email address today of all days. My father passed away too young on July 24th and today is his birthday. A few weeks before he died, when we still thought he was going to live, I massaged his feet–something I have never done before. I do so wish he were here today, so that on his birthday especially, I could tell him “I bow to the light within you.” I am so grateful that you sent this beautiful poem into the world again for all of us today. It was kismet. Thank you, and thank you Andrea for leading me here in the first place. I miss you too.

  2. Isn’t it wonderful when a poem moves you to tears?

    I once had an old school friend read over some of my work to help me select the best ones for a submission. She said the one made her cry because it was exactly how she was feeling at the time and the poem made her feel that someone else understood her pain. Upon hearing that I thought, “Thank goodness someone truly understands my words.” We both got something out of it.

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