My New Favorite Poet – In Memoriam: C.D. Wright (1949–2016)

Greetings Bloginistas…

My New Favorite poet is C.D. Wright, who passed away yesterday, in the morning. I knew of her, but had not read too much of her work. After reading about her death, I then delved into reading about her, and, in turn, her amazing verse.

Sadly, the death of an artist often lends them greater exposure, which brings a whole new audience to the flame of their genius. This also means that that flame is extinguished (at least here on Earth), and we are unfortunately left with only the body of work they left as their legacy. Optimistically, though, at least we have THAT.

Here is a poem that struck me; for its ingenuity, its postmodern quality, its rhythm (that is what we’re about here at ARRTI, after all!), and the amazing way, when you have read it, even just once (although I recommend multiple times), you GET IT.

“The Flame”

the breath               the trees               the bridge


the road                  the rain                the sheen


the breath               the line                  the skin


the vineyard            the fences             the leg


the water                the breath             the shift


the hair                  the wheels             the shoulder


the breath               the lane                the streak


the lining                the hour                the reasons


the name                the distance          the breath


the scent                the dogs                the blear


the lungs                the breath             the glove


the signal               the turn                  the need


the steps                the lights               the door


the mouth               the tongue             the eyes


the burn                  the burned            the burning

C.D. Wright, “Flame” from Steal Away: Selected and New Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2002).

By the way, if you want to hear Ms. Wright read the above poem in her own voice, go here and click the audio player at the top underneath the title. You can also see the poem in its original format in case Your Device / Browser + My Reprint = Format Hell (although I made very attempt to prevent this).

Click here to read an article in The New Yorker about one author’s personal experiences with her and how she was regarded by the literary world as whole.

You can read her Bio and other works at The Poetry Foundation here.

Also, here is her Wikipedia Entry.


The Moment

First, thanks to The Poesy Chick for this awesome post! Second, I truly believe that Ms. Atwood’s amazing prose overshadows what may be some of the finest poetry ever written. Read this and then pick up some of her other verse. You won’t be disappointed! Enjoy! Jamy :o)

a quick thought / question

Hello Bloginistas!

It’s time for some silly Wordplay:

If one writes a poem against this great government of ours, that is outside the protection from the 1st Amendment, could it be called “Poetreason”? OR, if one writes a poem trying to argue a point to an irrational person (or to try to get a child to eat their vegetables), could THAT be called “Poetreason”?

Just wondering…HAHAHA!


My Latest New Favorite Poet: Ned Balbo

Dearest Bloginistas,

My latest new favorite poet is Ned Balbo. The below poem (from American Life in Poetry: Column 533) reminds me very much of my childhood vacations with a person whose name I shall not mention to “protect the innocent”😀.

Let’s just say she (and her “accomplice”, who taught her, Artful Dodger-style, in the ways of “procurement”) was responsible for my being here on this earth (and her accomplice was responsible for her being here on this earth…I now have the “Circle of Life” running through my head, LOL: “Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba”:/ ).

The woman in question has, allegedly, QUITE a collection of various dishware, table accessories, cutlery, etc. from the varied places we visited on vacations. It’s rather cool, actually (sans the alleged petty theft, that is!), and a veritable “King Solomon’s Mine” of restaurant ware, hotelware, and kitsch.

It seems that Mr. Balbo had much the same experience:

The Sugar Thief

If it was free, you taught, I ought to grab it
as you did: McDonald’s napkins, pens,
and from the school where you were once employed
as one of two night shift custodians,
the metal imitation wood wastebasket
still under my desk. But it was sugar
that you took most often as, annoyed
on leaving Dunkin’ Donuts, pancake house,
and countless diners, I felt implicated
in your pleasure, crime, and poverty.
I have them still, your Ziploc bags of plunder,
yet I find today, among the loose
change in my pockets, packets crushed or faded—
more proof of your lasting legacy.

My favorite lines are the last ones:

“I have them still, your Ziploc bags of plunder,
yet I find today, among the loose
change in my pockets, packets crushed or faded—
more proof of your lasting legacy.”

Especially the “Ziploc bags of plunder”, because they were pirates in a way, weren’t they?

The full article can be found by clicking here.

Click here for three more of his poems over at the Valparaiso Poetry Review



i’ve been away, but don’t dismay!

Hello My Precious Bloginistas!

I wanted to post really quickly because I realize it’s been a fair amount of time since my last post (about three months, 15 days…YIKES, more than just “a fair amount of time”, really!).

I wanted to let you know that I haven’t forgotten, some life events just got in the way.:-/

I have many posts almost complete (new work, New Favorite Poets, writing process thoughts, and more) and will get them up ASAP!

Thanks for following and supporting ARRTI, I truly appreciate it, and am bolstered and warmed by you all!

Thank you!


a little “share” so you won’t despair

Greetings my lovely Bloginistas!

I have felt a bit overwhelmed and depressed today (not the LEAST bit unusual for me, Cancerian that I am😉 ) and when I need a boost, I read this poem. I “hope” (no pun intended) that it brings you the same feelings!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Emily Dickinson



A Rhythm Runs Through It has passed the 500 Follower Threshold!


I am a collector of many things of great value to me, and you, my lovely, gorgeous “Bloginistas” are at the top of the list! The fact that over 500 of you took a moment out of your valuable time to click “Follow” after visiting my humble blog, warms my heart, and makes me do the happy dance!

I would also like to express gratitude to my Visitors and “Likers”, for I truly appreciate all of you as well!

Thank you all so much!


Jamy (A Rhythm Runs Through It)

My Latest New Favorite Poet: Kathleen Aguero

My latest new favorite poet is Kathleen Aguero. The below poem (from American Life in Poetry: Column 517) was one of the poems (based upon personal experience) that punched me, hard, in my emotional stomach. It’s just beautiful, and actually quite comforting, to think that those who left us are now in a place of sparkling, resplendent glamor, and peace.

Send Off

The dead are having a party without us.
They’ve left our worries behind.
What a bore we’ve become
with our resentment and sorrow,
like former lovers united
for once by our common complaints.
Meanwhile the dead, shedding pilled sweaters,
annoying habits, have become
glamorous Western celebrities
gone off to learn meditation.

We trudge home through snow
to a burst pipe,
broken furnace, looking
up at the sky where we imagine
they journey to wish them bon voyage,
waving till the jet on which they travel
first class is out of sight—
only the code of its vapor trail left behind.

My favorite lines are these (supporting my earlier view of the comfort of our passed loved ones being in an amazing place):

“Meanwhile the dead, shedding pilled sweaters,
annoying habits, have become
glamorous Western celebrities
gone off to learn meditation.”

I mean how BEAUTIFUL is “glamorous Western celebrities”??

The full article can be found by clicking here.



My Latest New Favorite Poet: James Weldon Johnson

Greetings Bloginistas!

Here’s a quick post of a gorgeous poem by someone I had not yet heard of (a truly “New Favorite Poet” for ME, anyway) until reading this poem posted by one of my fave Bloginistas, Biblioklept.


Out of the infinite sea of eternity
To climb, and for an instant stand
Upon an island speck of time.

From the impassible peace of the darkness
To wake, and blink at the garish light
Through one short hour of fretfulness.

This poem is so short, and absolutely crammed with meaning and philosophy. Even though it IS brief, I still have some favorite lines, solely for their musicality, not meaning (although like I mentioned before, EVERY LINE is meaningful):

“To climb, and for an instant stand
Upon an island speck of time.”

Just simply lovely.

Here’s a link to his bio, @ James Weldon Johnson

Enjoy! Jamy😀