Now winter nights enlarge / This number of their hours, wrote English poet Thomas Campion over 400 years ago. Let now the chimneys blaze . . . Let well-tuned words amaze, he continued, and despite our technological world, doesn’t that advice still seem spot-on?
As the longest night of the year approaches, local wordsmiths and the people who appreciate them will gather for a slightly-pre-solstice edition of Poetry in the Boro. This free event will be held at the Walnut House on Thursday evening, Dec. 19. Poet Sandy Coomer, storyteller Kara Kemp and other special guests of the Bloom Stage storytelling project will appear, followed by an hour of open mic.
Sandy Coomer is a poet, artist, Ironman athlete, and social entrepreneur who lives in Middle Tennessee. She is the author of several poetry collections, most recently Available Light from Oak Ridge-based Iris Press. She is the founder and director of Rockvale Writers’ Colony in College Grove, a not-for-profit organization that exists to support, promote and educate writers of all genres and backgrounds. She is also the founding editor of the online poetry journal Rockvale Review.
Kara J. Kemp is storyteller, creative leader and culture builder who lives in Murfreesboro. A frequent contributor to the open mic and outreach projects of Poetry in the Boro, she is also the founder and producer of a national, award-winning storytelling event, United We Style, benefiting United Way, as well as co-creator and producer of the Bloom Stage, a multi-genre storytelling platform.
Doors at the Walnut House, 116 N. Walnut St., open at 6:30 p.m.; features begin at 7. Water, soda, beer and ciders are available to purchase. For more information, including a word challenge for writers, see poetryintheboro.org.
“Calligraphy” by Sandy Coomer appears in her book Available Light. The poem was a finalist in the 2018 Best of the Net competition and first appeared in Mud Season Review. Reprinted with author permission.
Calligraphy
In winter, we see
the true shape of things –
the curve of one branch
wrapped around another,
the raw bones of rock
unmasked in dry grass,
the dark ink of nature
spelling bare words
on a white page – while
the syllables we keep
from each other
are wrapped in ice,
a hyphen between us,
camouflaged in trees.
