Cynthia Nibbelink Worley's poems have a certain simplicity, directness. They are wistful, honest, bold, yet lyrical. At times child-like, almost na ve, they nonetheless occasionally allow a "woman with womanly rage" to surface. From remembering "...the sweet scent of ripe apples/fallen among clover and wild wild roses.../in the cool lemon of springtime" to exasperation with "Rush CrazyAss" and Sarah Palin, WILD WILD ROSES both celebrates and laments a rural upbringing, where "...violets sleep close to grass/subdued as rain...," while always seeking to "name the thing beneath the name of the thing"(John Ciardi): "I can only write a poem.../a stupid poem.../...that is at best/...an excuse/for the poem/I will always be trying/to write...."
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