by Corissa Haury when the sage burns to ash and the rich embers that shone grey-green and red-hot turn white and black and soft— like the feather of a dove that you found upon the ground one day when you were young; and the world was soft as that feather, soft as that ash of sage, soft as that green smoky smell…
The 5 Major Mind Melts of A Writer As a 20-something woman, I have forged through many preconceived notions about running, marriage, citizenry, tradition, education, history, America, and my own past. I continue to shed unhealthy misconceptions and open my heart to the billions of truths we encounter. The most intimidating obstacle, the longstanding wound on the flesh of my…
I started running consistently for the first time in my life over the last few weeks. It has spurred me to new levels of human stability and adulthood I did not think possible. The big secret behind me, a very lazy person who loves television, pizza, and ice cream, bringing themselves to run, is one teensy thing I had to…
Lately, I have thought a lot about people and community. Last week I finished a nine week course on local history docent training. The thing that struck me the most throughout our lessons and tours was this theme: the history we share, the connection we make between archaeological artifacts and our diverse tour audiences, is not education but provocation. This comes from…
I like definitions. When my curiosity about something in the world is sparked, and I seek to understand it, I am always looking for definitions, whether they come from a dictionary, Wikipedia, social constructs, or language. When I sought to understand my place in society and in the world as a 21st century white woman with voting rights, able to…
by C. E. Poley We often find ourselves struggling to define how we feel both inside our selves and outside. We struggle to find methods that express our thoughts and emotions, such as writing, painting, making music, mathematics, astronomy, and countless other things humans do. It is not easy to express the self with clarity. We are told every day by American…
By C. E. Poley One of the things you discover during National Novel Writing Month (which I have sometimes participated in since 2008) is what kind of a writer you are. What I mean by that is, you discover all kinds of things about the ways that you like to write. For example, what your methods are, what your personal physical…
By C. E. Poley This is not really about a history of blogs. My father showed me how to express my curiosity about technology and writing at a young age. I started my first blog when I was 12. It was an HTML blog, all built in Notepad on our Windows…
The Cetacean by C. E. Poley the cetacean is mighty. he slumbers: in the deep. he rides: the crests of waves. he swallows: tiny creatures by the thousands. oceans are within his belly he reaches: the sky stretches. he pushes: the water shifts. his blood is warm as the sea is cold around him.
A young man with a plan. by C. E. Poley “Achoo!” He heard the delightful beginnings of a cold descend on the small office call center. He did not let himself smile just yet. It had begun. The cubicle walls were drab. The hum of telephones echoed around him; educated minds performing uneducated work. The office walls that bordered the room…
If you have a moment today, please hop over to Medium and enjoy my latest piece for them. John Muir said it best when he claimed, “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” It’s quite true. Thanks for tuning in, friends.
This is my grandfather during World War II. He flew planes into the battlefields to give relief and pick up wounded soldiers. Today he is 91 years old, and he is one of the most wonderful men I have ever known. I am proud to be his granddaughter, and I am so proud of the stand he took when the…
It’s a lovely September day, and the last roses are still reaching towards the sun. Maine is so lovely.