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No Red Meat

No Red Meat - Brenda Shriver, Ann Tinsley This collection brought to mind Robert Bly's leaping poetry.

In his book "Leaping Poetry" Bly wrote: "I am not saying it (leaping poetry) is the only good kind of poetry. Far from it. I like poetry of steady light very much. Shakespeare's sonnets are often poetry of steady light . . . The leaping poem by contrast gives off a constantly flashing light as it shifts from light psyche to dark psyche, resembling the flashing lights of flying saucers."

What I have seen and read of Worra makes me think he would like being considered a poet by that description. I'm no authority, but Bly is a favorite and a standard bearer, so I consider the comparison high praise.

Here's a favorite Worra passage from "Thread Between Stone":

Today in the heart of Western democracy
As presidents chase interns
With their own oral traditions
It's hard not to wince at unlearned lessons.
And gazing at Egypt
Beneath the pyramids of Gaza and great royal valleys
There is a world
Oblivious to all of my mythic meanderings.
Scorched and bleached to epic simplicity
You will never understand the dreams of mummies
Until you see a silkworm cocoon
Who aspires to emerge as a butterfly in her next incarnation
before someone unravels her for thread.