“It isn’t every day that the world arranges itself into a poem.”

— Wallace Stevens

Wally must have been as disappointed about that as I am. Maybe every day a poem lurks in your peripheral vision. Most slink away. Some are mirages; others, characters for another day. Some walk right up and turn themselves in, and some can be ambushed, while others take you down. You might wrestle with one for hours, months, or years. Finally, the last word clicks into place, the punch line hits the mark, the sound and the meaning both ring true. To pin it to the mat is joy. The poem cries, “Enough!” And the poem is pleased, too, having won its own kind of victory over you.

No, for me, that doesn’t happen every day.

But a blog post a day? A simple slice of prose? An opinion or observation, however poetically unexpressed? Why not. Join us. If nothing else, the greatest way to improve one’s writing is to write: quantity trumps all.

Text © Gwyn Nichols 2010