Poetry by Christine Bialczak
The sun was not setting
The clouds did not blow
The rain was not falling
The snow would not snow.
Our waters are dirty
Our land is a mess
Our air is polluted
One must really confess.
If we don’t act now
We are going to see
The earth won’t be livable
Not for you or for me.
They told me the subway would go my way at nine.
I still wait for the 193-train to bring me to my stop.
I think I will wait, as I don’t have anywhere else to go.
Well, I officially got my first rejection from a literary agent. One of many, I know. So many contacts to make, so many letters to write, each one dedicated to the wants or needs of that agent. How many have you written? Have you tried? This is one conquest that I will not abandon until I get the results I desire!
This week, let’s consider what we savour…
When I walk on the beach, later in the day, most people have gone home, and I notice the world around me. I notice the expanse of the ocean. I savour the idea that the horizon line isn’t straight it curves into more ocean, much too far to swim, too far to see across. I savour the sounds of the small waves crashing on the shore while little water birds scurry for little clams washed up in the surf.
Stine Writing 