Trying to be perfect kept me afraid
“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better best.” As a first grader in catholic school, this is what the nuns said, nay sang to us....
“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better best.” As a first grader in catholic school, this is what the nuns said, nay sang to us....
In the summer of 1980, I was responsible for a Kettering Foundation symposium in Woodstock, VT, that brought together scientists, theologians, psychologists, and others to explore the subject “Recovery of Wholeness.”
Mavis Staples deep, rich voice carries me into a land where there’s “total communication” because of the love that’s present in all of us. Her voice surrounds my heart...
I am 79, in need of repair, much like the rest of the country, and it seems to me that in the last twenty years the arc of history has definitely turned downward. The horrors...
Growing up as a young Black man in the city of Philadelphia was replete with memorable experiences and learnings that have stood the test of time. The sharing of pearls of wisdom and uniquely crafted statements...
This poem taught me that word bits combined with rhythm can get us through the toughest times. The speaker creates memorable phrases through the use of commas: “But still, like dust, I rise,”...
The opening line of Joy Harjo’s poem, “A Postcolonial Tale,” found me just in time....
When younger, I was an ardent lover of movies, of cinema. From Cocteau to Kurosawa, Keaton to Kubrick, watching a great film was a near religious experience. Images and words...
Scholastic book order day in Mrs. Rader’s sixth-grade English class was my favorite. Once, I thumbed through the newsprint leaflet and selected a poetry anthology called Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle.
I entered teaching as a writer, and remain one. I had spent 10 years as a journalist and the habits of writing every single day stuck with me even as I changed careers.