National Poetry Month & Royal Weddings…what do they have in common?

Today our poet is Liz Eisen.


Written by Liz Eisen

Wandering down a street
the ancient storefronts
bakery, hardware, consignment, theatre, café.

Finding the muse,
a hidden door off the main
behind which I will find respite.

The tranquility,
being in this room filled with baskets and shelves
of hanks and skeins and balls of fibers.

I watch quietly as the gray-haired woman
who learned the twisting of the yarn and needles so many years ago
brightens as the knits and purls reveal themselves to her again.

National Poetry Month: What have we learned?

To have begun each day with a poem, a brief read of words jumbled chaotically ordered in sense –what have we learned?
Our poet today is Rossana G. D’Antonio with two poems.


written by Rossana G. D’Antonio

I stare out our floor to ceiling windows at the beautiful lush green mountains across the canyon.  The white fog slowly blankets the dividing crevasse until the image is no more than a faint jagged outline.  I hate this weather.  It reminds me of the accident.  You see, the dense white fog never visits alone; it always brings with it a bag full of nasty tricks.

CNN’s breaking news on the TV
The crumpled jet violently stopped by the dirt embankment
Swarms of rescue workers
The shrill ringing of the phone
The horror
The sound of my heart
The white body bag

And as quickly as it reared its nasty head, the haunting white image emblazoned in my mind begins to fade as the fog slowly rolls out leaving behind the sights of my beautiful lush green mountains that bring me peace.

Until the fog rolls in again….


written by Rossana G. D’Antonio

The story continues but

The end of the chapter is near

The pages drip with tears

And are weighed down by heartache

A tale still being written

And yet, with each turn of the page

The promise of hope and healing

Slowly rises…

National Poetry Month…Still April!

Our poet today is Laura Beasley (administrator’s apologies for posting the wrong poem yesterday!)

The Optimist

Written by Laura Beasley

Taking time to write song-singy sonnet,
Choosing word that can’t quite rhyme with vomit.
Because I’m fed up with the life I lead,
I’d rather stay home in a bath and read.

I choose the cheerful smiling all the time
And writing poems with happy-sounding rhymes.
When empty insides yearn to be carried
Instead of giving until I’m buried.

I’m far from home where my friends love me so,
The safe places where I know I could go.
It would be easy to be sad like some
But it’s not long before I have some fun.

Our path is bright and it’s the path I walk.
I can see light and I can walk my talk.

National Poetry Month & Easter

Our poet today is Mary Rose Betten with a poem for Easter just past –

Three Haikus for Easter

written by Mary Rose Betten

You are my sea God
White caps, waves, my anchor
Save me, i’m drowning

Universal God
My domestic heart implores
Grant me a passport

Beautiful Shepard
Teach us to bloom through the snow
Give us Easter hearts

National Poetry Month – Winding down towards warmer days in May

April Showers, May Flowers.  What is it about the month of April.  In memory of a loved one, our poet for today is Barbara Force.

Written by Barbara Force

        I didn’t want you to leave
        You didn’t want to go.
        But lymphoma became leukemia
        And so, the end of the show.
        My lungs could find no air
        The tears streamed down my face.
        Courageously and gracefully Dan left us
        No one can take your place.

National Poetry Month, Day 20 – things are getting wacky!!

Today’s poet is Erica W. Jamieson

Dreaded Association #5

 Written by Erica W. Jamieson

To be someone other.
To be able to speak pyramids
That might save my life
Save me.
Why are pyramids so difficult
To surgeon.
I am a late old ford truck.
I fester.
I must apologize for my eightness
Pain that has been casketed away.
To be
Sugar and healthy
Nuts.  I slunk in my shell in the game of
I am the pink plastic racing car.
I passed the appropriate kidney stones
I am here now.
I am a desert
I do not tell only lies
I tell libraries of worms
That I manufacture and prepare
While insisting of my grasses
That only golden clams of
Lightened fruit falls from their
Lips.  Lips. Lips.  I told a lie today.
I told a lie today because I am a late
Bloomer and the truth eludes me
I am still a child and I cannot
Find the words.  I am afraid.