I am not terribly interesting; I don’t climb mountains, race cars, or dance in public. I am not a poetry diva, slam artist, or controversial figure–I lack a sense of style.
My mother calls herself “quietly unconventional.” I may have inherited that temperament, though I have little of her wise tenderness, which she expresses in ways other than words. For me, expression gets done through written language.
See my poems (links to the right), books (see my books page), and this blog (begun in 2011) for what can be inferred “about me” as poet, educator, gardener, armchair philosopher and environmentalist, bookworm, observer, essayist, researcher, dabbler in the sciences and the arts, literary critic, librettist, history and art enthusiast, parent, spouse, daughter, introvert, daydreamer.
But remember that the speaker of the poem is not the same as the poet, and my writing voice may be fabricating images or events to suit the poem. So inference may not really get you terribly far, though the journey through my writing would be–I hope–at least a bit rewarding to you, Beloved Reader.
Thanks for being here.
Go read some poems!