Drew Myron's Blog, page 2

Thankful Thursday: Note

Here we are again, already.

It’s Thankful Thursday, a (sorta) weekly pause to express appreciation for people, places, things, and more. Attention attracts gratitude, and gratitude expands joy. Please join me.

What are you thankful for today?

NOTE

I’ve been having trouble

starting this note because

the light on the field stretches

to catch a gleam I cannot contain.

Threshed in appreciation, I have less

and less to say. Maybe the language

of gratitude is written in our steps

up a hill, in the mouths of stones

holding our awe.

— Drew Myron

 * * *

The world turns on words.

Thank you for reading & writing.

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Thankful Thursday: Proof

PROOF

I am drawn to stillness.

Despite weather and distance,

joy prevailed. I enter

a holy space.

— Drew Myron

These are tough days for thankfulness.

As I write, high winds are fueling multiple fires throughout the Columbia River Gorge (where I live). Twenty homes have already burned, and thousands more are threatened.

And it’s only June. And it’s not just here in the Pacific Northwest. And it’s not just fires.

We are living in extreme times.

Our right to peaceful protest has been twisted to appear violent and unlawful. Leaders are literally fanning the flames — by using military as political pawns, by using inflammatory language to ignite a fire — then stepping back to watch us burn.

It’s all so much.

I’m working hard to see beyond my frustration and fear. I’m working hard to find proof that joy prevails.

In that spirit, let’s share. Here's what I've found to appreciate this week:

• The 2025 Poetry Postcard Fest starts next month, and I’m gearing up! I’m making and collecting postcards, and getting excited to write and send short, spontaneous poems to complete strangers. Please join me!

• I read two great books this week: Stone Yard Devotional by Charlotte Wood, and Sad Tiger by Neige Sinno.

• Happy birthday — this blog is 17 years old! Born June 18, 2008, this space is almost an adult. I introduced the blog as “a quiet place to share a few notes” and it’s still true.

On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful for you. For keeping me accountable, appreciative, and grateful for things big and small. Attention attracts gratitude, and gratitude expands joy, and my joy grows when shared with you.

Thanks for joining me in this dim room with a soft piano.

What are you thankful for today?

___

The world turns on words.

Thank you for reading & writing.

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Try This: Lift & Massage

Things You Cannot See

 

The day stretches on. The charade apparent.

People place their trust in sky. Weather fills the frame.

 

“I don’t press the shutter,” the photographer says.

“The image does. And it’s like being gently clobbered.”

 

Ambitions in half-light create a complete hush.

So much happens before the click.

 

Sometimes you can see the strain

when breaking through gloom burns too much.

 

No one says “cheese.”

“See,” they say. “Me,” they say. 

 

But the command is a fleeting knowledge, and the image a mirror

that stretches time and truth. The stiff smile, a knuckled stare,

the squint against wind as shoulders graze in awkward want —

all is but a moment moving, a photograph catching

 

the fierce current between seer and seen.

— Drew Myron

This poem is a collage of lines from Diane Arbus: Portrait of a Photographer by Arthur Lubow .

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Is your mind full, your mood sinking, and are you out of words to explain and express? Me too!

When I’m in that vacant space, I turn to books. To read, yes. But also to lift and massage. Much like a collage poem, or a scramble, the lift & massage is a process that involves skimming through a book, jotting down random phrases, rearranging in a way that feels orderly but also unexpected, then massaging — adding, subtracting, changing — each line until it is your own.

The trick is to massage deeply so that the writing is yours, though born from another. Plagarism is bad, attribution is essential.

Basically, the lift provides the first step out of thuddishness and into the mystery of making.

Try more tricks:
Overwrite
Scramble
Wordcatching
Cut Up
Headlines
Where I’m From

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The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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What’s Your Ritual?

Twice this week I’ve been asked, “What’s your ritual?”

It’s a fun question, and a great measure of imagination (or, in my case, limitation). People want to know about the idiosyncratic actions of others. A special pen, a catchy song, a lucky shirt?

What do you do to prepare for writing and life?

Short answer: I don’t light a candle, walk the streets, or breathe deep.

A RITUAL FOR THE SMALL-HEARTED

This is not a recipe, but a ritual. They are sorta the same but ritual has a pinch of magic, while recipe has detailed directions, ingredients you don’t have, and temperature requirements beyond your patience. Like my meals, I keep it simple.

I drink a cup of hot tea, the cliche of writers worldwide. I’m embarrassed to even share this “insider” tip.

I should have told you Diet Coke, which is my chemical favorite. Or a shot of tequila. Even now, hours from the sanctioned time for drinking, I can see the amber liquid in the small clear glass. See how it stands eager beside journal and pen? I can taste the burn that shakes me awake.

But no, it’s tea I prepare before writing. A ritual so pedestrian and routine, so ridiculously obvious. And it’s not even a precious age-old routine, or my grandma’s special-blend ritual. It's a recent acquisition — or maybe affectation — lifted from a writer-teacher I don’t even like.

It was January. I was glum. She led class in a whispered plummy British accent that was both clever and cloying.

It was a long winter, a bleak season. I struggled to write. I couldn’t climb out of myself without scratching others. I lashed out silently in a booming voice that did me no good.

“Make a cuppa,” she said the first day of class, encouraging a comfy tone.

Words matter and few things annoy me more than using sammy for sandwich and hubs for husband. “Make a cuppa,” annoyed me right out of the room.

I wanted coffee and frenzy. I wanted to thrash and feel, not settle in for cozy biscuits and warm comfort. Give me snot and tears, eyes rubbed raw and a fever running through the heart. I wanted lightning and shock.     

And then pounding stillness — the way the sky spins after a storm, the wind slows and the world takes a breath. I wanted reset. But not without purging the poison of guilt and grief.

I didn’t know how to get there. Desperate, I turned to that teacher with the forced cheer. Word by word, I swallowed my oozing collection of bitter resistance, lifted my pen, and made a cup of tea.

What’s your ritual?

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Read, Watch, Listen, Learn

Exercise the writing muscle — drew myron

The world is full and I’m always hungry. If we are what we eat, we are also all we absorb: sounds, sights, touch and more. Let’s fill up with good stuff.

Here’s what I’m reading, watching and listening to lately:

WATCH:

Latin History for Morons

I don’t know how I missed this stand-up “comedy” show when it first aired in 2018 — it’s still (or even more) relevant today. Actor John Leguizamo’s special crams 3,000 years of history into a 90-minute one-man show that reveals and corrects the whitewashing of American history. Now playing on Netflix.

LISTEN:

Edna Vazquez - Bésame Mucho

Are you sensing a theme here? I’m (still) learning Spanish and studies show that along with traditional class comprehensive input is an excellent way to further your ability to learn a language. I’m immersing myself in Spanish music, books, and history.

But really, I first heard Edna Vazquez more than five years ago at a Pink Martini concert in Portland, Oregon. Wowza! A powerful voice, full of vigor and passion. I blast her at full emotive volume and try to sing along. Each week I recognize more words, so really I am listening and learning.

And, yes, I am listening to Edna — and all my music — on CDs. Remember those? They’re back! Or, in my case, they never went away. I streamed Spotify for a short while but missed the ability to listen to the arc of a full album. Plus, I am frugal and it pains me to pay for yet another subscription (looking at you, Adobe, Microsoft, Apple TV . . . ). Turns out I’m not alone. I take heart in knowing this guy shares my attachment to 1990s music technology.

READ:

“But the finish or start of a story is often frayed and full of holes, and nothing ever opens or closes where or when we think it does.”

This line, from a short essay by Barbara Hurd, appearing in Brevity, is running through my mind.

Read the brief and beautiful piece here.

Barbara Hurd writes with incredible attention to detail, capturing the turmoil and beauty of both the natural and inner world. My favorite of her many books is Walking the Wrack Line, a collection of essays on what washes ashore. (Her work inspired my own wrack line piece here).

WRITE:

This week I wrote a poem, a letter, and the perpetual grocery list. All because I first wrote with others.

I’m grateful for writing groups, though I’m not really a “team” player. I prefer the solitude of self to the pressure of a crowd, but in a writing group I feel boosted by goodwill. It takes courage to write, to listen, to share. Writing with others is a vulnerable act that requires open heart, open mind, and trust.

And it’s (usually) worth the risk! The more we exercise the muscle, the stronger we get, and the more we want to write. It’s a beautiful circle.

Your turn: What’s filling you up? Books, movies, stories, songs . . . ? I’d love to hear from you. Write to me.

Of Lilacs

Dear You,

I want to tell you of the lilac air, and 

 

how my head is shedding long hairs across my life, and  

 

I want to show you the river, how the wind won’t stop making waves, and 

 

see here, how the crescent moon seems to slip a bit more each night, and 

 

I’m reading a book that I either love or loathe, and 

 

I need you to help me know myself. Are you here?

 

Please, stand with me in this floral cloud and

 

smell the memory of spring.

 

Love, 

Drew

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Friday Find: Ballast & Balm

Need ballast, balm, and a bit of burrow?

When the world presses and the mood plummets, I turn to books. Here are some of my latest favorites:

FICTION

Leaving by Roxana Robinson
A beautifully nuanced and thoughtful novel on marriage and the price of compromise and loyalty. This is my favorite book of 2025 (so far).

Show Don’t Tell: Stories by Curtis Sittenfeld
A refreshing collection of short — but dense and satisfying — stories about everyday middle-age women leading smart, witty, wondering, wandering, complicated, ordinary lives.

Bel Canto: The Annotated Version by Ann Patchett
I didn't love this novel when it debuted in 2001, but this annotated version has deepened my appreciation of the book and its author. With chatty handwritten notes in the margins, Patchett returns more than 20 years later to review and revise her bestselling book and offers readers a master class on the art of precision and revision.

POETRY

The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace & Renewal
This jewel of a book is packed with my favorite poets: Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Alberto Ríos, January Gill O’Neil, Danusha Laméris, Naomi Shihab Nye, and dozens more. I consider this my daily dose of creative inspiration, aspiration, and awe.  

An Important Note: On some of these photos, you'll notice a library barcode. I'm a frequent user and fervent lover of libraries. We need these safe, free, and powerful spaces and places. Please support your local library — by borrowing, visiting, and giving (time, money, heart).

Need convincing? On this topic, Bitches Get Riches is articulate and urgent:

“Our libraries have been under attack for years now. Book bans and outright censorship are one thing, but extremists are also attempting to restrict library access for marginalized people; fire highly trained and educated librarians and replace them with untrained ideologues; privatize libraries to turn them into for-profit businesses; and close some libraries altogether, effectively killing community access to all the great services I talked about above.

And with the killdozer that is Project 2025 rampaging through our federal government, things are likely only going to get worse. We know from history that the people trying to ban books and censor diverse viewpoints are never the good guys. So I will just call these most recent attacks on our library system exactly what they are: an attack on democracy itself.

Fortunately, the best way to defend your library is also the easiest:

Use the fucking library.

State and local governments apportion money to public services according to their use. So if lots of people are using the library, it’s pretty clear that it gets a lot of use and therefore needs a lot of funding.

Bring your friends! Sing your library’s praises! Explore all that your local library has to offer and spread the word.

You can also show up for your library when it is attacked. Attend town meetings and local government functions to express your support of the library. Protest any censorship or threats to your library’s funding. If someone in your community is coming for your library, let them know their book bans are gonna catch these hands!

It can feel useless and demoralizing to protest the giant, churning cog of the federal government in These Trying Times.™ It’s a lot easier—not to mention more effective—to use your voice to affect change on the small, local level. Your library and your community need you. Don’t be silent.”

To this I add: Yes! Read, Write, Rally!

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Float, Balance, Breathe

Float, Balance, Breathe

1.

Lean on your lungs.

Tuck your chin and swim downhill.

Instructions run through my head:

Float, balance, breathe.

Gasp, reach, pull.

Float, balance, breathe.

 

One lap. Another. Slow but steady.

Arms thread water, slipping in, pulling back.

My body quiet.

 

Turn head, open mouth, inhale, inhale, inhale.

I slow everything down because breathing

is the challenge. In water, on land.

 

But isn’t that the burden for us all?

One more lap. One more day.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

 

2.

On the walk home, hair wet, a storm kicks in.

Dark sky. Wind swirls. A few drops turns

to gushing rain in a frenzy of bent limbs.

 

Everything is clinging to something,

a grasp for something solid. What happens

in the space between gusts, in the gasp

for breath and refuge?

 

3.

We've been told to hold close

to love, to beauty, to every small thing

because this will sustain us through difficult days.

 

I do not ignore the burning world but I am fearful

as the flames of my indignation grow.

How futile I feel.

 

4.

As I reach home

I see the dying honeysuckle vine

has sprouted four green leaves in

these first tender days of spring.

It may survive.

 

My appreciation for this thatch of brittle sticks

is stretched. As so much ugly takes hold

how will this small hope grow?

— Drew Myron

It’s National Poetry Month and life is a poem.
What are you writing, reading, painting, making?
Please share with me: dcm@drewmyron.com

Thankful Thursday: Broken

On this Thankful Thursday, I sing the praises of poems carried and shared. It’s the sort of secret language I need right now. One that gazes and sighs, then turns to another and says, you too?

As the world roars, I am happy for things quiet and small, like a poem, like a pocket.

Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day!

Here's how it works:

 1.  Pick a poem. 

 2.  Carry it with you. 

 3.  Share it.

The result? The world hums with the beauty of poems. 

That’s it. That’s everything.

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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• If you are here, reading this now — thank you!

April Blooms: Poems, Pockets, Picnics

The Story of Water, by Tracy Weil.

'Cause we're living in a world of fools
Breaking us down when they all should let us be.

— How Deep Is Your Love

The Bee Gees were right. Forget April Fools’ Days, and turn instead to what really matters:

Today signals the start of National Poetry Month.

Launched in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets, National Poetry Month is now the nation’s largest literary celebration with scores of readers, writers, schools, libraries and bookshops hosting special events and activities to mark the value of poetry in our lives.

Celebrations take place across the map — in major cities and small towns — with readings, walks, talks, picnics, parties, and more. My favorite way to mark the month is Poem In Your Pocket Day. This year it falls on April 10 (get those poems ready!)

How are you celebrating?

In Hood River, Oregon (where I live), the local library and city parks department have partnered to create a Poetry Walk. The project combines 14 nature poems accompanied by the work of local photographers placed along Indian Creek Trail, a popular path within the city. The effort is headed by a committee of writers with connections to the Columbia River Gorge, including Alejandro Jimenez and Leah Stenson.

In Albuquerque, New Mexico, the annual Poets’ Picnic is a free outdoor event celebrating art, poetry and nature with live readings and music performances.

Visitors are invited to walk the grounds while viewing poems written on brown paper tags tied to trees and shrubs, called Weathergrams (in a playful adaptation of the Asian custom). The haikus are written by New Mexico poets and rendered by local calligraphers. The work is also featured in handsewn chapbooks created by area artists. Proceeds of sales benefit the Open Space Alliance. The community event is led by local poet-artists Dale Harris and Scott Wiggerman.

What’s happening where you live?

Across the country this month, writers will gather in groups with heads bent and voices wobbly as they find safety in the sharing.

Someone pens a poem. Another reads a line that lifts off the page and into the mind. Ideas grow. Feelings swell. Action arrives.

Maybe you’ll write a letter, or share your favorite poem — with a neighbor, a stranger, a friend. In the reading, the writing, the giving and receiving, a thread goes taut, and from the tug, our hearts stretch and strengthen.

In this month of celebration, how will you take part?

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About the Image:

The Story of Water — isn’t that a great writing prompt!?

The image at the top of this page is a painting by Tracy Weil. He’s a dear friend whom I fondly consider the poet of painters. His latest collection of work is Unabashed, a solo exhibition at the Arvada Center in Colorado, opening April 11.

Discover more here.