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

First Friday Poetry: February 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 love and friendship.

I've spent the last month pondering what love and friendship mean to me. Eventually I started All About Love by Belle Hooks. I've lost track of how many times I've read this book, but each time I take something profound from it. 

Early in January, Ailsa, one of my closest friends, died after a long illness. Decades ago she introduced me to The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben. When I read Suzanne Simard's Finding the Mother Tree, she was unable to read it with me. This poem is for her. 

I suspect this is really two poems, or maybe it's the start of a small series.

Ecology

forest flora
are connected through
an underground network
of minuscule filaments

uniting all species
into in a community

warning of danger,
nurturing as needed,

embracing one another
in fragile arms
of belonging

lately i’ve been thinking
that we too
are connected
in a similar way,
through invisible 

filaments of love

a love stretching
across space and time
nurturing us in a collective 

of hearts, minds, and souls,

rejoicing that
each one of us exists
to shine our unique lights
into the darkness

and maybe,
when people
march in streets,
blow whistles of warning,
bring food and medicine

to those trapped in houses,
maybe, we are seeing

how we become
the instruments
of this invisible network

today
i’m wondering
if perhaps trees grieve
when one of them falls
just like i do
now that you are gone

The theme for March is Spring has Sprung.

First Friday Poetry: January 2, 2026

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler again 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 New Beginnings.

In the last month I've carried those words in my pocket. I've mulled them over and chewed on their meaning. it wasn't until I started to write that I began to make sense out of them. 

The Beauty Way that I've referenced in my poem is both a Navajo philosophy and a traditional prayer. This musical version was created by composer/conductor Gregg Smith. I learned the song in a choir ages ago. We might not have sounded as good as this, but singing it with others was/is a glorious experience.

beginning anew

these days,

in the big picture of my life,

it’s more about endings,

than beginnings.

it’s about looking at the finish line,

at what i’ve left undone,

at how we, as a society, have failed 

future generations

i watch my grandchildren 

and worry about 

the mess we're leaving them

it’s easy to let despair creep in

indeed, it’s hard to stave it off

but this morning,

the sun rose on a skiff of fresh snow,

cracks in the clouds revealed 

a crazy quilt of blue and white sky

and i remembered 

that i can choose

to walk in beauty

so i signed up to volunteer 

for the candidate of my choice

exhorting myself 

to put in the work

even if we don't get the changes we need

even if we end up losing

the big game

i can still

choose anew to love 

choose anew to hope

choose anew to live and walk the beauty way

Next month's theme is Love and Friendship. Why don't you join us?

First Friday Poetry: November 7, 2025

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler again in a 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 the focus is on using poems to inspire us.  

In September and October I was gallivanting across the country with two cousins. I started poems, but never found the energy and/or concentration to complete any of them, so I took a break from participating. I'm happy to be back today.

From Linda's blog post:

"This month we are taking inspiration from the Maya Stein poem that is linked to this blog post.
The structure is based on this pattern:
“I could be …”
“But I’m here.”
“I want…”
“They want…”

I wrote this last weekend when I was in Vancouver visiting with a friend. 

I could be somewhere warm. I could be hanging out with my sister in San Jose Del Cabo, lazing on hot sandy beaches and drinking margaritas in a cantina. I could be in my sewing room working on one of the unfinished projects that I’ve started and can’t find time or creativity to finish. I could be hanging out with my grandkids: hiking, playing games, working on crafts. But I’m here, spending time with a best friend in the care home where she now lives. I want to have a conversation, but she is almost incapable of speech. I tell her how much she means to me. I tell her I love her. I want to find the words to say the final goodbye, but they won’t come. They want to choke me. They want more time. She says my name. I cry. She cries. It will have to do.

First Friday Poetry August 2025

I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler again in a 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 the focus is going to be on using poems to inspire us.

This month we are writing about “Where We Belong” based on this poem.

A while ago I purchased Finger Exercises for Poets by Dorianne Laux. The first chapter asks us to really look at a thing: to carry it around with you in your pocket and pay close attention to it. This past month, I have carried the word 'belonging' around with me like this. I've savoured the feel, sound, and taste of it in my mouth and memories. 

Then last week, Tim Minchin, an Australian singer songwriter released Time Machine, his first album in ages. Not Perfect, a profound song about belonging, is on it.

Growing up, I never felt like I belonged. Living in a small town with a father who used a wheelchair and stayed home, while my mother went out to work, played a huge part in this. We were different. 

Here's my poem. I've stolen those end lines from Tim. 

where i belong

i belong

in my home town:

it wasn’t always like this

half a century or so ago

when i left 

it was: 

too small

too limited

too homophobic

too misogynist

too racist

too redneck

in these intervening years

i’ve changed

it’s changed

i might be flawed,

it might be flawed,

the thing is,

this landscape,

it's imprinted on my heart:

ghosts of my ancestors

haunt these streets and hills

weaving me into the tapestry

of this place and this community

half a century later

i've finally figured it out:

this town,

it's not perfect,

but it's mine

First Friday Poetry July 2025

 I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler again in a 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 the focus is going to be on using poems to inspire us.

This month we are doing either “Where I Live” or “Where I Come From” poems. I wrote a Where I'm from poem in January of this year. 

where i live
summers are hot
precipitation is rare
the round brown hills of my youth

are a constant backdrop
except when spring rain and snowmelt
inspire bunch grass and wildflowers
to cavort across their slopes

where i live
in the valley,
it’s deceptively lush and green

fruit stands line the highway

displaying baskets of

berries, cherries and apricots 

these ground crops, fruit trees, and vineyards
are sustained by
a concrete irrigation canal
and straightened out river

where I live 

wineries abound

but the expansion of agriculture

into the steppes

has meant that the burrowing owls 

who once populated these landscapes 

have now been extirpated 

where i live
our cedar hedge is home to
quail, sparrows, robins,
and birds i don’t know the names of
i spend mornings and evenings
in the backyard garden
currently, i’m harvesting raspberries
but it seems like what i mostly do
these days
where i live,
is weed