I am a sixty-nine year-old cynic born and bred without religion in NYC now stuck in a provincial very Christian pocket of Virginia. Poetry that doesn't rhyme gets on my nerves, but I agree with a lot of the schmaltz that smarty-pants poets put out there. I call Oliver a skinny-prose writer. Her contributions don't tickle my fancy, but if saying I think she's brilliant to a smart, attractive woman at a cocktail party will lead to dinner and a movie, I'll gladly read more of her poems and say I love them. p.s. Typing inside these tiny boxes is hard! I can't scroll back to proofread and check for typos. I hate that! Am I too picky? Is there a lobotomy pill? I don’t want to die yet, even though I DO believe there whatever comes next will be better than THIS. But I can't keep living in THIS world with the mind I have now. It's way too observant and critical. I want to notice less and not get upset when I see injustice, hypocracy, apathy, slovenliness, litter, abuse of privilege, etc.
On Oct 21, 2025 Douglas Thom wrote :