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 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