As for what you're calling hard luck - well, we made New England out of it. That and codfish.

When Daniel Boone goes by at night The phantom deer arise And all lost, wild America Is burning in their eyes.

One cannot balance tragedy in the scales Unless one weighs it with the tragic heart.

If two New Hampshiremen aren't a match for the devil, we might as well give the country back to the Indians.

Our fathers and ourselves sowed dragon's teeth. Our children know and suffer the armed men.

Most of the time I'm not really attracted to writing that's focused on filling and fighting it out within a well-defined container. I like work that gets out in the world and lets the world shape the poem.

I think a blog is a catalyst for a number of possible kinds of writing besides being its own medium.