At the Gallery

Walker Art Center
Alexander Calder Exhibit

Just people, you know -
Their shapes and sizes
And the things they do
With their hands;
How they move their feet and fingers,
All crossed and stretched and moving together;
The movement of faces,
Lifting lips and eyebrows.
Nodding and turning.
The free-form people, you know.
They were all there


Barbara Stoner
Poems from the Heartland Read more about At the Gallery


How To Build a Canoe

Longfellow month has come round again.

You see, every (or nearly every) morning, I do a few yoga poses. I can't say they have made me any more limber, but at this stage of the game, I'm afraid to stop. I'm afraid I'll just rust up. So I don't fool myself that I'm doing my body that much good. These days I do it for the poetry. Read more about How To Build a Canoe


My Life As a Tree

Yes, back to the trees. Because where else do you go for shelter in high summer? And what better vision can there be for the last third of life than drilling for sweet honey in the rock?

Green Figs

By Edward Hirsch

I want to live like that little fig tree

that sprouted up at the beach last spring

and spread its leaves over the sandy rock.

All summer its stubborn green fruit

(tiny flowers covered with a soft skin)

ripened and grew in the bright salt spray.

Read more about My Life As a Tree>

Sitting In Trees

I claimed before that as a child, I lived in the trees. At least, I tried. In Decatur, Illinois, where I did most of my growing up, there was a mulberry tree in our backyard where I spent many a summer day. Both me and the books I smuggled out of the house and up the tree with me came down at the end of the day, in season of course, stained from head to toe, frontispiece to end papers, with mulberry juice. Read more about Sitting In Trees


Wish I'd Thought of That

That's what I thought when I first read Robert Frost's poem, Birches. I spent my childhood in the trees. Usually I'd find a cozy corner on a juncture of limb and trunk where I could read and dream the day away. But sometimes I would climb on up and up and up to the tallest, most spindly branches I could reach, where I could see out over the canopy and let the wind rock me back and forth.

I don't think I ever climbed a birch. I don't know why. Read more about Wish I'd Thought of That