A voice is a voice threaded through and chosen by words. Or the voice chooses the words. In a fusing this intimate, who can say which is which? This is not a chicken-and-egg clichéd question, because there is no answer. Today, I remember oranges, limes, lemons; yellow school buses and empty desks; a quilting done so skillfully I would swear it was woven and not blocked out separate elements. That gay, Latino poet some are muttering about smithed beautiful words yesterday. Let’s remove italics, adjectives and other qualifiers. Let us please close our eyes and hear the song of a poet.
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Susan Daniels Poetry 
I like this. The source of music is the same regardless of the flute it breathes through. I am not an old white hay-seed woman psychiatrist mother writer. I’m a writer. All one. Thanks.
Yes, my point exactly! The labels and exterior are simply window-dressing 😉
Alice–by all means use that old white hay-seed woman psychiatrist mother writer in something–those words have a sting, sing, and magic all their own.
And your voice is powerful, Susan. Next week I have a lunch date with a gay blogger friend, a Ghanaian living in the diaspora who has come down for a visit. A feminist, writer, teacher with loads of qualifications and a wonderful person (never met her) I may blog about it if she allows it. Considering the big noise here over gay issues, this is a big step for me,
Oh, I hope you can and do. I hate to see poets reduced to their external labels.
yes, I thought Richard’s words were beautiful … I love the way he kept tying the universe, the world, the day back to his parents, his world, his experience. OUR experience.
Yes, exactly. It was beautiful.
such beauty in this – wondeful imagery. once again your words take my breath away
Oh, Miriam, thank you!
What’s really nice about any creative work is how it’s just a little different for each of us.
Yes, that’s true. i just wish those that have to label and hate could get past those labels and see that beauty, which was so clearly there.