Its been a privilege to highlight poetic voices over the last few weeks. As this emphasis draws to a close, I thought it’d be wise to wrap up The Common Good on a strong note, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Allow me to introduce Maureen Doallas. Her debut collection Neruda’s Memoirs: Poems was published in 2011 by T.S. Poetry Press. Her poem about bottle trees appears in Felder Rushing’s most recent book on the subject. Other poems have appeared in Open to Interpretation: Water’s Edge, an anthology of photography, poetry, and prose; the charity anthology Oil and Water. . . And Other Things That Don’t Mix, sales of which benefit communities along the U.S. Gulf Coast affected by the 2010 BP oil spill; and at Every Day Poems, TweetSpeakPoetry, The Victorian Violet Press & Journal, the online charity anthology Quakebook, Poets for Living Waters, the sad red earth, Escape Into Life, and Red Lion Square. She was a Finalist for 3 Quarks Daily‘s 2011 Arts and Literature Prize, for her poem “Consider the Pomegranate”. Her interviews and features have appeared at The High Calling, TweetSpeakPoetry, and The Systems Thinker.
An avid collector of art and fine press books, Ms. Doallas posts daily at Writing Without Paper, primarily about poetry and other literary, visual, and performing arts. She was a features writer and editor for more than three decades, working in such diverse fields as international healthcare, education, and employment law, until her retirement in 2007. She owns a small business, Transformational Threads, which sells custom, limited-edition hand-embroidery of licensed images of original fine art. She lives in Arlington, Virginia.
Thank you very much, Maureen.
Brokered WordsThe frost hasn’t finished with the kill. There’s time, still — to feel the ground give while you silver full into too-late middle years, your nights, murmurous discontents, startling their way into your deepening sleep. Claim what is restless to last, even as your sight like a snow cloud thickens, and your breath, exhausting its missed but heart-paced rhythms, catches on these, my brokered words of love.