A Kiss is Just a Kiss . . . (cue orchestra)

When the suitcases come down from the attic, when the bike comes out of the garage, when one of us goes searching for car keys or a water bottle, we meet for an exchange of lips. Just in case the plane goes down, the kid texting on his cell doesn’t see the cyclist, the car

Death of a Loved One: Day 29

There are no words.
So many notes, books, poems all offered with genuine, hopeless chagrin: There are no words . . . Still we seek to find them. In many ways we are recrafted by each death – how we place our feet on the floor the morning after on foreign carpet fibers and confront

Screen Staring

Screen staring is not writing. It is not research. It is reading every news report you do and mostly do not need to know (cute animal videos, a cure for graduation blues, the size of Angelina’s bump) and then re-reading them. It occasionally involves scrabble or other time sucking games, definitely involves graphics, shopping for

Head to Head Haiku at Bay Middle

The haiku poetspeaks sincerely into the mike,holds heart in clenched fist

The Haiku emceeinvites the poets to bowfrom waist in respect

Each greeting is met
with reverberating gong
as the poets bow.

The audience issilent as the fallen snow.Words glisten. Applause!

Haiku takes a hike at Bay Middle

Says it all about the end of the school year, eh? Wednesday and Thursday Michael and I hiked and wrote with the Bay Middle School sixth grade as part of an outdoor experience planned for the last full week of the school year. I have written countless poems during and after hiking around the

Granny Camp

“It was my Granny who taught me to sew. . .” That’s a line from a poem I wrote years ago watching Kelly and Katie grow up with so many more opportunities than my Granny had. Granny had 9 grandchildren, first a group of us six girls and then Uncle Bobby FINALLY married and

Conneaut Schools

The kids at Lakeshore and Gateway Schools in Conneaut, OH were prepped and hoppin’ ready for poetry when I arrived this week. One teacher commented (caringly) that I must have my “gameface” on to be there working with the kids considering the tragic circumstances of these last weeks. And to tell the

A Question of Family

Today I visited a school and at the end of the assemblies the questions were regular, how old are you? how much money do you make? how old are your children now? We are all a lot older than we were a few weeks ago. What I have learned from past surgeries in my

Claire’s Day

Claire’s Day is a reading celebration in Toledo that is held once a year in honor of a 10 year old girl who went to summer camp and never came home. She had a cardiac arrest. I had been signed up to present for at least a year in advance. I went thinking it would

Why are you teaching us to write poetry?

Not a smart mouth, not unkind. Just a question from a third grader today at R.C. Waters Elementary in Oak Harbor, OH.
The morning assemblies were actually a comfort — it was good to be with happy children without parentheses of pain about their eyes — like stepping from a darkened theater into the

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