Poet's Platform Column | 29 March 07 by Janet Nesler | The Scioto Voice | Wheelersburg, Ohio

THE ANGLE OF MY FALL I. All that blather about the solitary nature of writing. Sure, you write your poems alone. But then you leave your room. You go to the other end of the house where he sits writing at his desk. He stops his work to listen. You read sometimes to seek his input, sometimes just to hear your words aloud the way a cataract judges the angle of its fall by echoing off rock-wall backdrop. Writing, a solitary endeavor? Poppycock. Few blissful interactions come closer to the ultimate dissolve. II. They knew the truth. Writing is solitary. Reading is solitary. Living is. III. Writing this poem reduces me— one drop in the waterfall— to squandered mist. I fall, strike rock, I rise to thrash again among the rush. I crash once more. I ricochet to ferns and cling. I grasp at slickened rock face. I claw at moss. I do not flow. There’s no dissolve.  I strain to find ways back upstream, a desperate, solitary undertaking. Marietta Ball Xenia, OH   Flowing Ink With a pen they put their words on paper Some might be funny and others are sad Telling the stories in both poetry and prose Most tell of the experiences they once had They tell you of heartaches, strife and pain Of troubled youth or a promise that’s broken How they met the great love in their dreams Or when they were caught in a tree smokin Each has their story and it begs to be told Most of them try to write a little bit each day It brings happiness to hear the compliments What their readers and listeners have to say So you of the Phoenix Writers I will commend Your artful skill coming from that flowing ink We will hear and read all the beautiful works You know how some at times will make us think Acie Workman Eden Park