Yellow rubber duckies, floating with permanent optimism,. Tough board books with simple pictures, words and chewed spines,. Soft pink and white elephants and squidgy rattles,. Tiny stretchy baby suits that were too small too quickly,. Stretch the clothes, not the baby. Nursery rhyme nurseries with stick-on stories,. Musical mobiles, warm nightlights and rocking chair. Soothing on sleepless nights,. Pastel coloured throws, floor mats, and nappy bags.

Is she the last of a generation,. Who lived through two centuries. Of cataclysmic events and change;. A century that felt the consequence. Of moving territories and boundaries. From crowns to oligarchical republics,. From rags to riches beyond counting,. Technological revolution, the benefits. Of science, engineering and medicine,. A system of healthcare and welfare that,. Is she the last of a generation,.

Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges. Non-wordpress bloggers please enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Join 7,593 other followers. Since the Dawn of Love.

Poems, practice, and process by Hannah Stephenson. Friday, August 14, 2015. I have read lots of her writing over the years, but this is my favorite piece of hers so far. Thursday, August 13, 2015.

Too much august not enough snow. The book of prairie is broad with stories. And platters of bottom land, bald eagles. In the cottonwoods waiting for another day. This is how we know a winter front. Approaches and what we want. On a barely discernible path. At mile marker nine, to reach the briar bushes. And game trails, the vista and the fields. Combined and tilled impossibly within six feet of the brink.

8230;a peek behind a white coat. Posted on May 30, 2015. I search amongst the trees. Hollow voices, rusting chimes. Shadows bared by waters of black. Silken hope, luminous,. I depart to its embrace. Posted on May 11, 2015. 8230;the tinier guests help keep me young. Posted on May 7, 2015.