by Mary Gunderson No verse, no song, no word can describe, the beauty and wonder of Fucius, the Humming Bird that cries. I sit as silence here, I wait for you to near, alone you come, oh delight your soul, in sweet things that are dear. Like I! Like I! I say; It is is […]

by Mary Gunderson I sat outside, surrounded by flowers and the rise of the sun. In my lap, Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ stared boldly in my eyes and challenged me to read. Fear hung quiet on my tongue as I waited for another second to pass by. It was the third time I had […]

by Mary Gunderson Standing still – no more – no more Though path be dark Laughter sings – it must sing And dance within our heart! Unknown – they call it Settled in my feet That I may never move Sat heavy in a thought This heavy lifing – lifting Of my weighed down wounds […]

by Mary Gunderson Emily Dickinson starts her poem #125 with two strong verses, “For each ecstatic moment / We must an anguish pay”. These two verses challenge me while I agonize and search through the spaces of each word in five of her poems, #252, #254, #249, #280, and #125, realizing for the moment that […]