Mirth, n. joy, lightness of mind, from OE myrhðe
Subscribe to my newsletter, Mirth, to receive regular updates about my writing, including sneak-peaks of upcoming releases, new poems, and articles that deliver a behind-the-scenes look at my writing process. Mirth Newsletters are typically divided into one of three categories, corresponding to days of the week (though not all three are guaranteed to appear on any given week). On Mondays, I offer critical reflections on the poetic process with a short essay. Tune in Wednesdays to read one of my new or unpublished poems. Fridays I provide a reading (audio only) of a poem from various historical periods. Below you will find an archive of past newsletters.
Stay of Execution
The mother of Barrabas wept When her prodigal returned. “My son, my only son,” she cried, And he, with sidelong look and brow Downcast at her unravelled state, Felt only shame to be called so. Thus Joy and Sorrow, by one door, Received whom all had cast aside, Save him, who being a faithful Son, set free, with chains, the faithless And robbed Death of…
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Spring
It is bath time for the city. We take to it like a sullen boy (Caked in grime, pockets tucked And crammed with silt and rocks) Who hears the long voice of his mother While he delights in his forest And dreads the foamy warmth ahead. Todd Anderson (Stuff of the Rind, Sand and Sail,…
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Melt
Tributaries unannounced emerge from hidden closets of the earthWhile spangled oft-by-child-tangled grasses shiver and wake with stiff smilesThe well-wrought and in-a-fraught-pile-rotting-compost breathes as it heavesIn sight of the sun since-sour-but-ripening-wisely to a fair zenithA well-earned resurrection for the Son-of-Man making the dull dayEver the more shine in a restless-dark-won-at-last though scorched and scathed Todd Anderson…
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Rhetoric
I will not now, being plain, nor ever,Though fancy or siren’s call rebeckonWith familial fame and longings old,Myself deploy such oratic urgingsAs risk your patience and noble esteem,Hard won these many years by clear-eyed Truth,Who cleaves my heart more humbly than deservedAnd lodging there, has cleansed all artifice,Washed my wayward wit and stirred eloquenceUnrefined though…
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To My Niece on Her Departure to School
When in the door still glancing back your eye You see fresh light demur upon the bed And hear the lonely wind knock at the pane Think then how small the room you leave behind How shrinks the colder passages of time But though this room to smaller eyes grows small And you cannot return…
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Feast
What love could render It has done As on a flaming skillet Fat doth run Infusing broth or meat With flavour sweet To serve the tongue Todd Anderson (Stuff of the Rind, Sand and Sail, The Reluctant Prophet) writes the newsletter Mirth to share a behind-the-scenes look at his writing process as well as to offer readers the first fruits of…
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I Put Them With My Own
I’ve lost ‘em Lord: whole brigade in the grime,Fog of war upon us grey as sin,For sin is not so black when we first sup.McBriggins! All that fountain of laughter.Ah! Haven’t heard him laugh for years, Lord. GuideMe to his laugh tonight. ‘Tis selfish, yes.Had I been at my prayers, perhaps – but ah – It’s…
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Exhausted
In Canadian winter Gasoline-powered Cars Wheeze along Clogged arteries Chain-smoking. Todd Anderson (Stuff of the Rind, Sand and Sail, The Reluctant Prophet) writes the newsletter Mirth to share a behind-the-scenes look at his writing process as well as to offer readers the first fruits of his poetry and reflections. He grew up in the forests…
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The Hold Fast
When I was sixteen, my brother fell down a disused well,Gone before my eyes without a shout, as dust and chaff plumedIn the afternoon sun, ready to rise just as he set.I ran as much by fear of what my father would extractFor my neglect as by concern for my brother, collapsedIn the wilderness, hours…
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She Led My Storms
She led my storms beyond the doorWhile I sat broken by the news.Rising from the tear-stained floor,She led my storms beyond the door,As neighbours mused at all she boreAnd tracked through snow her every bruise;She led my storms beyond the door,While I sat broken by the news. Todd Anderson (Stuff of the Rind, Sand and…
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Todd Edward Anderson 