(Poem) The Ones You Love by Harriet Ellenberger
“Re-enter the fullness of the world, they say; rejoin the children of earth.” People you love build a small house for you, cover the dirt floor with hay, hook Read More …
“Re-enter the fullness of the world, they say; rejoin the children of earth.” People you love build a small house for you, cover the dirt floor with hay, hook Read More …
May the earth live, May we live on the earth, May love in our life flower, May the transformation be realized. May it be stone that we stand Read More …
On 19 May 2013, my mother died, four days after her hundredth birthday. She’d been living for weeks on ice chips and low-dose morphine, regularly leaving her body to walk Read More …
Purple clouds mass along the horizon. Sheet lightning crackles. Black winds cut, keen as an obsidian knife. Out of the dark west she rides. From the yellowing east she comes. Read More …
Harriet Ann Ellenberger was an activist in the US civil rights, anti=war, and women’s liberation movements before immigrating to Canada at the age of forty. She was a founding member Read More …
Mary Daly’s Amazon Grace: Re-Calling the Courage To Sin Big, New York and Hampshire, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006 reviewed by Harriet Ellenberger I want all of us to read Mary Daly’s latest book, Read More …
Acutely Personal, Eerily Collective In early autumn of 1985, I had been living for four months in a Studio of One’s Own, a beautifully airy structure built by women for Read More …
for Susan Robinson I send a poem to my friend, asking her, Do you think it is finished? My poem speeds off to join internet traffic, passing through the super-computers of US intelligence Read More …
Moose, deer, lynx, coyote, bear, skunk, porcupine, snowshoe hare, hawk owl, ant, crow, honey bee, all who live in the woods behind the house I live in, now formally address Read More …
Sunrise Over the U.S.A. In place of the old dream and the old lies, I wish for my country of origin a new story, one that goes like this: Read More …
Victoria, British Columbia, Summer Solstice 1993 At a loss for everything but words, I’m writing in the sunlight of a sidewalk cafe when someone falls over an empty chair and Read More …