I remember exactly the moment when I wrote this poem (which I published on my old blog some years ago), though not exactly the date. I was standing in my kitchen drinking a glass of water. Suddenly, I felt a big pang. I looked at the blender nearby. I thought of my heart spinning in
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They usually come to me in dark but hopeful days. I just open up an app on my phone and write them while lying in bed or hanging out somewhere in Leipzig. Don’t expect a masterpiece or anything. Here are two. For Leipzig you didn’t judge her when she came back to you tail between
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I’ve just found this poem I wrote circa 2010. I’ve come across it fittingly at the moment I’ve begun falling in love with another city that’s a haven for Bohemians and all kinds of creative and free spirits. Leipzig may be the “new Berlin,” but can it become my new Wilmington (North Carolina), in a mode adapted
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I think someone else at Finding Home did this too? Was inspired and wrote a poem about a literary concert? Or did the wine go to my head, and I heard it wrong when one of the emcees said it? Anyway, that’s what I ended up doing too when contemplating how to write about the Finding
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