First Friday Poetry: November 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, writes a poem and shares it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is “Remembering/Memory.”

Many many years ago, I was a Girl Guide. I have fond memories of making crafts and camping, but the most profound experience was participating in the annual Remembrance Day Parade.

This photograph of my sister and me was taken at the Legion Hall where, after the event, we were fed hot chocolate and cookies.

Remembering the Remembering

November was colder then
when we marched
in the parade along main street:
a solemn procession from the Legion to the Cenotaph.

Sweaters under our blue uniforms did little 

to assuage the bite of cold north winds.
We stood, freezing at attention through speeches
and wreaths honouring people we never knew.

But those names on the roll call
were carried by friends we went to school with.
We knew their children, their nieces and nephews, their siblings, their mothers and fathers, their aunts and uncles.

Their names bespoke loss.
Their names were a solemn reminder 

that war is personal
not just something that happens to other people somewhere else.

December's Theme is Winter. 

First Friday Poetry: October 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, write a poem and share it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is gratitude.

The house was full of guests last week and so I am late. It's still full of guests, but I am determined to get this poem posted. 

I spent the month playing with ideas before scrapping them all and focusing on a poem honouring the one thing I am most grateful for: the sun. 

be like the sun

show up and shine

let your light

be a reminder

that every ordinary bit

of this whole wild word

is sacred

Next month the theme is “Remembering/Memory.”

First Friday Poetry: September 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, write a poem and share it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This months theme is Autumn.

It's been a hard summer here in the south Okanagan valley. We've had mammoth fires to the north and south of us. For the previous month, our air quality has been in the orange or red zones. Day after day, the sun, when we have been able to see it, has appeared red in the sky. In addition, we are experiencing serious water restrictions because of the ongoing drought. The only thing falling from the sky has been ash. 

I have never looked forward to Autumn as much as this year.

Here is my poem: 

arriving none to soon,

autumn is,
at long last,
on its way

heat and wildfire smoke
make way for clear skies
and cool nights

following the drought
of earlier seasons,
local voices 

rejoice in rain
a refrain of,
“isn’t it a lovely day?”
resounds as we go about the town

water restrictions continue,
the harvest is less than stellar,
but the cellar shelves are replenished
with coloured jars

what, we wonder, 

will we do with
the rest of the bounty?

First Friday Poetry: June 5, 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, write a poem and share it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is multiculturalism.

My poem this month began with a contemplation of a multicultural matriarchy. I considered how mothers around the world, in spite of our cultural differences, mostly want the same kinds of things for all our progeny: for them to be healthy and happy. I thought about how when you travel with children, you have an instant connection. Those old women we met on the Korean transit system took as much delight in the antics of my granddaughters as I did. 

I was lucky to have spent my teaching career in a multicultural community like Vancouver. I was shown that students don't really care about skin colour or cultural differences. They just want to be friends. 

I suspect a global, multicultural, matriarchy would learn from them. 

Here is my poem:

What if
a congress of crones
ruled the world?

Imagine a
multicultural matriarchy,
centring all the world’s children,

the ones they birthed,
as well as

other beings,
flora and fauna,
who share this planet with us.

What would this
parliament of protectors
decree?

Would they, could they, 

put an end to war?

I imagine them,
babes at their breasts,
faces serious as they
negotiate a world
where none of their offspring
are sent off to kill one another.

First Friday Poetry: May 1, 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, write a poem and share it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is parenting.

I spent last month pondering mothers, fathers, and parenting. Then when I sat down to write, this poem came to mind. Click on the link to read it all.


This Be The Verse

by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

    And add some extra, just for you.

This isn't the first time I've written about my family, and I suspect it won't be the last. Even though I spent years in therapy, each time is hard. Each time opens wounds I thought were healed. Each time brings me new insights. 

Mom and Dad in the before time.

Survivors

they fell in love,
they got married,
they dreamt
of building a better life
for themselves,
for their family.

like all couples,
they struggled,
they argued,
they hurt each other.

they were ill equipped
when faced with
the unforgiving circumstance
of my father’s irreparably
broken body.

he didn’t 

(no one really does)

handle it well,
with limited financial,
and nonexistent
social and emotional support.

his grief, rage, and anger
nearly consumed him,
nearly destroyed her.

few other couples survive
this kind of tragedy,

but they did.

they loved their five children,
they did the best they could,
it wasn’t nearly enough,

the scars are deep

First Friday Poetry: April 3, 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, write a poem and share it.

It's the the day after the first Friday of the month. This means I'm a wee bit late posting a poem, but I was on the road. I say, better late than never. 

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is Earth.

I've been gallivanting around Korea recently where the climate, at least this time of year, is very similar to ours. Early spring was everywhere. I was as profoundly moved by the sounds and smells of the season there as I am here. The earth offers up her gifts, no matter where you are. 

Here is my offering to her and you.  

 

in the earth

that is my garden

no barrier exists

between my body

and the soul of the soil

here is where

i worship at the altar

of microbial deity,

geosmin and

mycobacterium vaccae,

serotonin shifters,

mood lifters,

divine dispersers

of soil joy

Note: Geosmin is responsible for that smell in the air when it rains. Mycobacterium vaccae is both inhaled and absorbed through our skin. Some research suggests that not only does it make us feel good, it has anti-inflammatory properties, may boost our immune systems, and help cure cancer, leprosy, and psoriasis. 

"It's still magic even if you know how it's done." Terry Pratchett 

First Friday Poetry: March 6, 2026

It's the first Friday of the month. This means it's time for a poem.
I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in another year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, writes a poem and shares it.

This year, Bev and Linda have organized themes for each month. This month's theme is Spring has Sprung.

I knew I would be at a quilting retreat the first Friday in March, so I started thinking early on about my poem. Of course I dashed out this morning without posting it. 

One of my favourite spring poems is e.e. cummings' in Just.

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

I tried using it as mentor text and rewriting it to reflect our modern multicultural world, but after messing around with it for a while I abandoned it.

One day, while puttering around the house, this chant began to pulse in my head. It was as if the dormant seeds and bulbs were letting me know what this renewal of life feels like for them.


see we rise

out of the dark
out of the dark
out of the dark
we rise

into the light
into the light
into the light
we thrive

out of the dark
into the light
oh what a glorious
glorious sight

unfurl the banners
beat the drums
waiting is over
spring has sprung