Our Book of Poems

Although my poems are a little like

Tibetan sand paintings

they exist and then, they’re blown away

by wind (my poems are blown away by

other poems and dailiness and an almost full moon

and lamb chops and Ahava’s Peppa Pig sheets

and ignoring Boris Johnson and tonight’s debate

and the woman in a writing workshop last weekend who said

I Want to Be Ignited Again

and this morning’s phone call from a friend whose mother

has dementia woke up at 2 am for a 9 am appointment

and went outside and though it was dark she kept going

my poems are blown away by Real and Unreal life

even so I want a new book of them, not in any

logical order, order is not my middle name, but in a book

with an evocative cover, page numbers and a place

to say Thank You for Reading and a  then, a place

for you can send me yours.



Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.


  1. I do love your poetry. Thank you. Although many of your poems have touched me, made me laugh, made me cry, inspired me to share with others, made me nod my head emphatically in agreement, helped to inform and enrich me, I love the one on the Sept 12, where you describe your poems as Tibetan sand paintings. Sometimes I feel like my poems are like bubbles, containing heavy and magical air. Real and unreal life. Thank you for writing EVERY SINGLE DAY, and may I share my poetry with you someday?

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