Stone wall, Shenandoah Valley, Virginia; a map to the Land of Rest

   

THE OCCASIONAL FIRE

POEMS

NEW POEMS (5.11.09):
Main Street
Curved Benches

ABOUT MARK RHOADS

A good friend and accomplished poet once suggested to me that we write poetry to make sense out of life. It's true. In looking over my small corpus of poems I can see that I wrote each one to explore the meaning of something as big as my mother's death to something as simple as the presence of dandelions in my lawn.  Read them if you wish. Perhaps in some small way they will help you make sense out of life.  

Never heard the brooding chuckle of hens?
Introduce me as a poet to your friends.