Tag: Stacey Joy

Slice of Life – Open Write Poems

Denise Krebs13 Comments
24 February 2026 TwoWritingTeachers.org

This past weekend was Open Write, and we wrote poems over three days. You are welcome to join us in March! Check it out here and subscribe to hear about each new prompt.  Writing poems always seem to come from a slice of my life–past, present, or future. Here are the poems I wrote this weekend, with a little extra explanation about each.

Saturday, February 21, 2026 with Seana Hurd Wright
Ode to A Special Place

I loved my great Aunt Thelma, but I purposely left her name out and kept the details about her vague in this poetic ode to her avocado tree. I wanted to write just about the thrill and joy I found in that tree. Sadly, she moved away from that house by the time I was seven. If I had begun to write about my sassy, funny, talented, and dynamic Aunt Thelma, who I had until I was 27, I probably wouldn’t have stopped. Another day I will write about the beloved owner of my beloved avocado tree. (Maybe she will be the first addition on a March Slice of Life Story Challenge idea list, which is going to be needed very soon!)

In addition, I gave myself another challenge with this poetry prompt. I have a jar of words from Georgia Heard’s January writing resource. I randomly chose ten words from the jar and added them to my ode poem. The words: branch, ember, longing, beneath, rest, release, seed, tender, hush, echo. (Oops, I just noticed I didn’t use ember. How would you get that one to fit in this poem?)

Ode to a Special Place

When we weren’t there,
we dreamed of the tiny yard
of her early 1900’s LA bungalow.
We loved her, but when we went
to her house, it was the tree,
the tree was our very reason for being.

This magical tree echoed
the avocado tree in Eden.
It filled to overflowing the small yard,
spilling over fences in all directions.
Large branches grew low to the ground
from the tremendous trunk and across
the grassless yard, then back up
making a zentangle of possibilities
for even the smallest climbers.

This tree was a sanctuary for us, and
the gods of play and avocados and adventure
blessed us with hours of devotion and rites.

We were children in awe–
at sport on the jungle gym of all creation,
at rest beneath the city-hushing canopy,
at mending mindfulness and joy.

After exploring for some time,
we clumsily began peeling avocado skin,
releasing the tender flesh,
scooping it out with our fingers,
flinging the seeds at each other.

Lovingly (while longingly awaiting our next visit),
we would say goodbye to our beloved.

Sunday, February 22, 2026 with Stacey Joy
Honoring Human Emotions

Stacey Joy gave us a link to Brené Brown’s “Atlas of the Heart”, where I learned some new emotion words. The emotions I chose were borrowed from German. After watching the treatment of some Olympic athletes, like Amber Glenn when she didn’t do well in the short program, I was struck with the sad truth of schadenfreude. The emotion of schadenfreude (/ ˈʃɑːdənfrɔɪdə /; German: [ˈʃaːdn̩ˌfʁɔʏ̯də]; lit. “harm-joy”), is the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of the troubles, failures, pain, suffering, or humiliation of another.

Harm-Joy

Why did this emotion
jump out today?
Schadenfreude?
harm-joy?
Pleasure in another’s
trouble, harm or pain?

This chapter
in our history is
bringing out
the worst
in social media users,
in politicians,
in media,
in me,
in us,
in America.

It’s true, it’s bringing
out the worst in us.
But can schadenfreude be
positive? A by-product of justice?
Princes and prime ministers
fall and we do well to rejoice
in the accountability.
Yes, more accountability,
please.

Yet I look forward
to a new chapter
called freudenfreude,
joy-joy.

Monday, February 23, 2026 with Stacey Joy
I Believe In…

Recently, my husband asked me for my forgiveness for something he had said to me. I answered, “Yes. I believe in forgiveness,” so I had to write this one with the “I Believe In…” prompt:

A Tricube After An Argument

I believe in
forgiving–
you and me

the bitter
alternate
is blaming

I’ll choose to
close in love,
forgiving

Thinking ahead to National Poetry Month, in April we’ll be writing poems daily at #Verselove. Check it out here and consider joining us.

Week 1 – Verselove 2025

Denise Krebs10 Comments

Today is Poetry Friday, and Matt Forrest Esenwine is hosting at his Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme blog. Matt has a poignant story about Lee Bennett Hopkins and the rainbow anthology that is dedicated to him, the Dear One.

On Saturday, I look forward to writing the next line in our progressive poem. I’ll share it Friday evening. My project for National Poetry Month is to write a poem daily with #Verselove. Here are the first few days of poems and prompts.

April 1, 2025 – The Verse Collector with Jennifer Guyor Jowett

To America, 2025
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
flames as it has flamed.
I hear America singing–
Believing what we don’t believe,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
God mend thine every flaw.

In order of appearance: Emma Lazarus, Langston Hughes, William Carlos Williams, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Claude McKay, Katharine Lee Bates.

April 2, 2025 – When Spring Speaks in Tricubes with Leilya Pitre

Where have you
been, little
mama quail?

All winter–
stillness. Now
I recall

your faithful
nesting, your
darts and zips

April 3, 2025 – Borrowed Rhymes with Denise Krebs

Mi amiga, my friend,
Gracias por tu ayuda again
My skills are slowly creeping
I think of Spanish while I’m sleeping
You challenge my brain,
Our sweet friendship remains.

I used to study solo alone;
No ripples from the tiny stone.
Your knowledge lights my lamp,
brings me hope. I won’t damp-
en el entusiasmo’s light
Gracias, mi amiga, día y night

(Rhyming words for my poem are from verses 1 and 2 of “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel.)

April 4, 2025 – Oh! The Places You’ll Go with Dave Wooley

often I stay here
delighted with my vacation
spot homestead

April 5, 2025 – Scars with Bryan Ripley Crandall

I hold a handful
of scars—literally.
These ones all
on my left hand–
our old dachshund bit
six-year-old me, thinking
I was our aggressive beagle.
(He felt bad afterwards.)
With high school friends, I
attempted to slice a frozen English
muffin for a late-night snack—
but sliced my thumb instead,
(best to wait for the thawing).
The college sleepover mango-cutting
while working on breakfast
for the late sleepers turned out bad,
lots of blood and even fainting
as I watched the blood pour into the sink.
In seventh grade, I sliced off the knuckle
of my thumb, and as a seventh grade
teacher, I sliced off my
index fingernail–those last two
with an X-Acto knife.

Now, along with age spots
and arthritic knuckles,
the scars are hardly visible.
They have settled in
and found a home
on this valued hand,
a home of mercy and
remembering, a home of
gratitude and love.

April 6, 2025 – Where I’m From, Again! with Stacey Joy 

I am from the post-war boxy and basic stucco, sides splitting with kids who seemed to marry just in time for the next ones

And my first apartment shared with an artist on Clark Avenue

And the windowed beauty with Terry and Christine

And the upstairs apartment where little Mia downstairs always wanted to play

And the hundred-year-old 16th Street house with a mouse and my new husband, who woke the neighbor steaming milk for his lattes

And the little ADU behind Mitch and Joyce’s where we made plum sauce from the best plum tree ever

And the wallpapered horror on Delaware Street in Iowa

And the freezing-water-pipe house on Arizona Avenue in Iowa

And our very first home purchase in Michigan where we planted a ginkgo

And the ranch house with a pool to survive the Phoenix summers

And the house that needed new windows (we realized after we bought it)

And the white-tiled, white-walled flat in Bahrain with dust and the call to prayer

And now, after a lifetime of homes, our little cabin continues daily calling out “home” to us.

April 7, 2025 – Villanelle on the Vine with Erica Johnson

Azaleas

A Villanelle

Take care of yourself for me
Your wounds draw a new start
Grace and nurture for you three

Both to give and receive is key
Good is here to fill your heart
Take care of yourself for me

Building onto the family tree
Is adding your own leafy art
Grace and nurture for you three

What will endure, you will see
On the route, these steps all part
Take care of yourself for me

With gentleness and care, just be
Many dewy dawnings dart
Grace and nurture for you three

Hard things you will not flee
The unnamed you will chart
Take care of yourself for me
Grace and nurture for you three

A whole webpage about azaleas, my favorite spring flower.

Slice of Life – Protest and Open Write Poems for February

Denise Krebs6 Comments
17 February 2025 TwoWritingTeachers.org

Today there were Not My President Day protests all over the country, especially in state capitals. I have hesitated to say “not my president” because on some level I know we have elected a felon for president in this county, but we have not elected the acting president, Elon Musk. For that reason, Not My President Day was a perfect name for the protest. I went with my sister, her granddaughter, and a friend to a protest in Palm Springs, California.

I hope we can continue to #BuildTheResistance and have each protest grow in power and numbers. Read more about 50 protests in 50 states on one day at #50501Movement. There is no way we should find ourselves watching while our democracy is in such great peril.

 

Poetry is a good way to protest, as well. Here are some poems from this month’s Open Write.

February 15, 2025 “Show Your Love” with Donnetta Norris

It’s Black History Month and
here we are in america
aiming to forget all that was,
so our future will be born
ignorant and closer to where
our white ancestors made war,
nurturing the rot that became
our unfolding. No justice, no peace.
Today we rename and
amplify past genocide
and call it patriotism.

Striking line by Nikki Giovanni in “The Great Pax Whitie” “And america was born / Where war became peace / And genocide patriotism”

February 16, 2025 “Hope Lies Within” by Stacey Joy

truth
unarmed–
believe it–
truth unarmed and
unconditioned love
will have the final word.
truth and love stronger than fear.
Yes, in reality, hope will
have the final word. Right stalled today
is stronger than evil’s triumphant gain.

MLK Nobel Prize speech “I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.”

February 17, 2025 “Healing Hurts” with Britt Decker

A lifetime of sisterhood,
so fragile now in old age
with your inimical, hateful beliefs.

Do you also find my beliefs to be
destructive? Hmm…

Not to the planet,
not to the poor,
not to the cold,
the hungry,
the oppressed,
the marginalized.

Perhaps you are worried
my beliefs will lead to the
destruction of my
chance for eternal reward.

I think I’ll take my chances.

February 18, 2025, “Inhabiting Life More Fully” with Amber

Patriotism
shines through warriors under
Mother’s spacious sky

February 19, 2025 “Characters We Love” with Seana Hurd Wright

Brave and bold
Tenacious and honest
Uncompromisingly courageous
Humble and intelligent
I wish more people were
like Louis the Swan

#Verselove 2024 – A Week of Poetry 3

Denise Krebs

15. To Elegize or Not to Elegize? with Angie Braaten

Today I will
write a poem about
a worthy Cecropia moth
on Arizona Avenue in Orange City

It will not be about surviving my first blistery-cold and snowy winter in Iowa, having left Mediterranean-mild LA

It will not be about that woody cocoon carefully woven during the brisk fall, along the rim of the back porch step, surviving frostbite all winter long, while the water pipes in our old farmhouse couldn’t do it and burst

It will not be about the moth’s two-minute life, a being created to live a full two weeks on earth with a wingspan the length of my hand

It is not about its juicy abdomen–a fat soft thumb–holding big bright eyes on its winged back, (which did not camouflage the moth the first and only time it needed to be) as the Cecropia rested on the sidewalk drying its wings and gaining strength

It is not about a bird with a good appetite that didn’t care about the irony of biting into that abdomen, this fresh singing newness of moth.

Rather it is about the ethereal, ephemeral sense of living a life of praise.

16. Sevens Up with Dave Wooley (Kwansaba)

I wake up to the quails singing
praise. After a winter of denned-down
waiting, they make their sweet company known:
In the flutter and rhythm of wings
In the scurry of food-enough pursuit
In their joy of dusty dry bathing
I remind myself to live this day.

The Kwansaba I meant to praise today:

Each April morn, a friend places a
gentle lure in my box. I cast
my line into the boiling, teeming ideas
of the day, the week, the life.
When its hooked, I land–not the
dying–but the living words of life.
Praise prompt makers and those who witness.

17. Echo Sonnet with Erica Johnson

Finding Voice

What do you have to say? (Sway)
Do you mean side to side? (Hide)
Hiding your truths, you mean? (Keen)
Really, you can be true. (Poo!)

Your voice is dear (Fear)
We want to hear you. (Who?)
You! All your angles (Strangle)
I don’t want you to hide (Tried)

Keep trying. You can do it. (Sit)
Yes, waiting here, I will. (Hill)
It’s beautiful on top (Flop)
We all make mistakes (Stakes?)

Yes, they can be high (Try)
Great! You’ll cope. (Hope)

18 Nobody but You with Shaun Ingalls

This morning
as I fill the
hummingbird feeder
with sweet nectar,
thinking I should
clean the bowl with
soapy water first
(but I don’t)…

I am brought back to my
childhood.
I’m in the backyard
changing the water for K.C.,
our loud and wild beagle
who scares the neighbors
when he gets out, but
always makes us feel safe.
K.C. who adores us.
On all fours,
I bend over
and put my whole mouth
into the water,
taking a long
and green-cool
drink from his mossy bowl.

Somehow, I assure myself
if this bowl is clean
enough for me,
it will do for him.

I coach myself
at this new moment,
again an eight-year-old.

Continue to care
for the creatures,
like you do yourself,
for they are creators
of wonder
and of colors
and of love.

19 Deibide Baise Fri Toin with Stefani Boutelier

here I am
sleeping in, it’s time to scram
hubby’s birthday, kids are here
cheer

try again
counting skills I can obtain
this form has rules I to heed
need

 

20 Noteworthy with Susan Ahlbrand

For Vinolia

It’s taking me minutes to scroll through
all the What’s App messages–
Back to the beginning of our friendship.
At this late hour, I thought I would just
look for something funny
we had said to each other.

As I start to write this, I’m still scrolling.
When the rolling stops, I roll again,
like a gambler–through dozens,
Hundreds. No, it’s got to be thousands
of messages we have sent since 2014.

Starting when we lived in the same town,
now 7000 miles apart, and we are
still texting. Instead of something funny,
though, I’m finding all the messages
are making me homesick for you.

As I remember all the mischief,
all the memories, all the ministry fruit,
all the fancy foods, all the plans,
all the prayers, all the purple,
and now these messages are
tonight’s balm for my tears.

21. Memories from Mama’s Kitchen with Stacey Joy

For Grandma

I’ve been writing this since
I was six years old and we
young ones had to climb
into the broken window
to unlock the door to get all
into the house where the birds
had taken up residence

I’ve been writing this since
that house became your home
and that kitchen became where
we watched you make popovers–
you gently beating the eggs and milk
and stirring in the flour
until just moistened.

I’ve been writing this since
your index finger spatula-ed
out every last bit of the batter
into the mismatched custard cups
and baked them for what seemed
like hours at two different temperatures

I’ve been writing this since
those popovers, with their custardy
interiors and crispy toasted outsides,
came out of the oven
we broke them open
and added
honey
or boysenberry jam
or syrup
and ate our fill
on those slow deserty mornings
at your house

I’ve been writing this since
I found those old custard cups
high on a shelf in Lori’s laundry room
and she welcomed me to take
them home, and now I’m
the grandma who bakes popovers
in the desert. And you would be glad
to hear that I’ve got your magic spatula
finger so I don’t waste a drop

September Open Write 2023

Denise Krebs
September 16, 2023
Recuerdos de Comida y Amor /
Memories of Food and Love
with Stacey Joy

Gentle, round Abel, so
soft spoken, barely sweating
as he worked in the heat

Hermana, ¿qué pasa?
“Nada, hermano,”
as I munch a tortilla chip

fresh out of the oil
(he’s been frying pounds of
them so patiently)

now I look out my window
and see Joshua’s Perch
up on Abel’s Mountain

and I always think of you,
Hermano

September 17, 2023
There’s a Diamond in my Soup with Stacey Joy

Dear Sister,
You remember all the
food and love showered
on us by generations.
We knew we were
loved by our eating.
I’ve tried to forget many
of these rich delights,
but you make them
over
and
over
and
over
and you don’t let me forget.
You remind me how
delicious they were by bringing
them to me–tastier, I think than
Mom or Grandma made them–
macaroni and cheese,
tamales, lasagna,
chicken pot pie,
cherry cobbler,
lemon pie,
cinnamon rolls,
biscuits…
And today you brought
chicken tortilla casserole
and chile-cheese cornbread.
I try to forget,
I try to forget,
I try…oh, forget it.
Pass the cheese sauce, please.

September 18, 2023
For the Love of Words with Barb Edler

I was six years old
waiting for the mail
Maybe this will be my lucky day!
Sometimes it was, and the
mailman would pull out that
cardboard covered package
that made my heart swell.

Two beginning readers,
this time maybe it was
Hop on Pop and
Are You My Mother?
I couldn’t make out a word,
but I enjoyed the pictures.
I probably knew the letters,
and maybe I had memorized
some words from Dick and Jane
at school (Look, see, come…)
However, these books at home
were magical.

I don’t remember my mama
ever reading books with me, though.
She was busy with seven kids.
Cooking, cleaning, ironing,
knocking new doorway holes
in the wall and remodeling
with a perfectly crafted doorjamb,
as needed. That kind of stuff.

I read books with my sister, though.
When she came home from working
at the telephone company
and/or on Saturdays (I’m not really sure),
she would sit with me and my new books.
She would paint my fingernails and read.
She somehow made the symbols
not so scary,
not so impossibly gibberish.
She taught me how to read.

I often wonder how and why
my mom ever agreed to buy
those books for me.
How could she have afforded them?
Just for me.
They even came with
my name on the box.

I have always treasured the memory.
These books are still favorites.
Every time I see a copy, I smile and remember.
Sixty years ago, and the flood of love and support
come back.

Thank you, Mama.
Thank you, Chris.

September 19, 2023
How to Triumph with Barb Edler

Generations

My grandma was quiet,
fragile, and seemed to lean
on her daughter to provide
strength, muscles, and purpose.

Her daughter, my mom,
of my grandma, but not her

Mom would have loved to study
architecture, but she married instead.
Finished raising her family–five still
in the next when her husband died.

Me, of my mom, but not her

I went to college and finished
even if it took 6.5 years and
ended in a geography degree,
the first B.A. in my family

My daughter, of me, but not me

She just came down the stairs
hair slicked back in a pony donning
a stylish sweater and sweats below
grabs the coffee we brought home
then returns to her home office

She’s a marketing director because
she asked for the title and salary to
match her responsibilities–she makes
things happen, rather than watches

My daughter, of me, but not me

Gradually, the women in our family
become more powerful

September 20, 2023
Barbie You with Glenda Funk

Random Barbie Talk

K: Are you writing a poem today?

D: Yes, about Barbie.

K: Barbie?

D: Yes, Barbie. It’s Glenda’s prompt.
Remember, you sat by her at dinner
in Anaheim? And Ken, who also liked
the movie. He has a Kenough shirt.

K: Yes, sure I remember, but I still don’t
want to see the movie.

D: I never owned a Barbie. I had a Francie
and a Skipper. Skipper was
Barbie’s little sister,
and Francie was like a
young teen with small boobs.
Lori had a Barbie and a Midge,
who had a brown beehive and freckles.
Judi’s friend borrowed Lori’s Barbie and Midge
for a 4-H diorama and never returned them.
That’s one of those unforgivable offenses
of family lore for the Reeds.
My little brother had G.I. Joe. We played
together a lot, and I must say
G.I. Joe was better.

K: Is that why it took so long for
you to fall for me?

D: What?

K: Were you looking for a soldier?

D: He had boots that were easy to
put on and a backpack.

K: I had boots and a backpack.
He also had guns.

D: Oh, I forgot about the guns!
That’s gross.
I liked his wooden foot locker.

April 3 – #Verselove Word

Denise Krebs

What a Wonderful World of Words with Stacey Joy, April 3, 2024

Today I found a new word–apricity–in this rabbit hole of unique and beautiful words, as Stacey described it. When I saw that apricity means “the warm rays of sun in the winter” it brought me back to a homesick day during my first winter in frosty Iowa. I sat in the dining room in a beautiful ray of sunshine and may have felt warm for the first time in months. It was that moment I tried to capture.

Sprung into my soul, this apricity

Reminded me of hope in the cold

Brilliant snow reflected felicity

Sprung into my soul, this apricity

Here, frigid and warm duplicity

Image for lavish life takes hold

Sprung into my soul, this apricity

Reminded me of hope in the cold

 

February Open Write Poetry

Denise Krebs1 Comment
Fables, Fairy Tales, Folktales–Oh, My! with Stacey Joy

All dressed up
And no one knows
The foolishness inside.
Interim wisdom shows

But once mouth opens
And words tumble out
The ass is revealed
Stupidity, now no doubt
 
Inspiration from: The Ass in the Lion’s Skin and a proverb:
Even fools are thought wise when they keep silent;
with their mouths shut, they seem intelligent.
Proverbs 17:28

 

Me, Too with Britt Decker

I’m sure I’m not the only one who

  • chooses the front row at conferences
  • raises my hand to be the needed volunteer
  • does a double take when seeing a sunset
  • cleans my plate at every meal
  • doesn’t drink coffee or alcohol (that makes me the permanent designated driver)
  • can be interrupted and switch gears automatically
  • edits anything and everything I read or see
  • can listen to one thing while reading another
  • thinks some people talk too much
  • lives life as a young person in an old body

 

Lift and Line and Make it Golden with Stacey Joy

I loved reading Giovanni’s “Kidnap” poem–those last lines where kid and nap are separated is fun. James Weldon Johnson is a favorite; he lifts my spirit, even with this line I chose, “God of our silent tears” from James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Every Voice and Sing”

God, are you there? It’s me, Denise
of endless hope, but thinking
our world teeters on the brink. Do not be
silent. Please, come and change our
tears into joyous laughter.

Another golden shovel is from Jimmy Carter’s “Considering the Void”: “an infinity of suns”

an earth of time brings an
infinity of stories–pleas
of possibility,
suns of soul

 

Written on a Shirt with Britt Decker

Why does this sweatshirt say Alcaraz?
It’s Alcatraz Island–the prison,
you know, in San Francisco bay.
Oh, I thought of Albert Alcaraz,
grade six, my first crush.
Nope.
Ok, that’s fine. I’ll take it.

 

Etheree with Stacey Joy

Run,
Children,
Sense and know–
Wild and loathed things,
Turn to the sun and
Dance on the rainswept days,
Someday you’ll see those who have
No voice, they’ll need someone, and you’ll
Remember your loves, all your years of
Tending the fragile; you will be the one.

Inspired by Nicolette Sowder’s poem “Wilder Bond“

#Verselove, Week 2

Denise Krebs1 Comment
Why Thursday? with Anna J. Small Roseboro (my poem)

Flirty Venus’ namesake day
Relinquishes the work week
Into reassuring rest–
Day of finis. This Friday we call Good
All the more, Jesus, when
You proclaimed, “It is finished.”

Image by AlexandruPetre on Pixabay
Tumble Down Poetry with Andy Schoenborn (my poem)

Mother Goose Shoes

There was an old woman
who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children
she didn’t know what to do.
Mother Goose, that is,
not my mom.
She wasn’t old—just a young widow,
and we didn’t live in a shoe.
We lived in a small house
with a lot of kids.
We shopped for one pair of shoes,
just one pair of shoes,
at the beginning of each school year.
We’d drive down to the shoe shop
next to McCoy’s market, and
start browsing the Mother Goose shoes.
We would then sit, ducklings in a row,
as the clerk measured our feet.
Then they’d bring out the footgear
we wanted to try.
The little leather Mary Janes…oxfords…loafers…
I didn’t know or care what they were called.
I had found my favorite pair.
It didn’t matter to me that
they needed to be a half size bigger,
and that the store didn’t have that size,
nor did they expect to get it before school started.
School was starting, and I was ready for
these shoes,
these shoes,
these shoes
to go with me in the dresses
I would wear to second grade.

She bought them for me,
this stressed-out mama,
but she did say to me,
“If you outgrow them
before you wear them out,
I’ll cut the toes out to make room.”
She never had to,
I just scrunched up my toes
as needed.

MotherGooseShoes.gif
Liberation and Joy with Stacey Joy (my poem)

yesterday I was invincible
today I realize I won’t last forever
so the flowers smell sweeter
the bird song more melodious and
the lunch you served extra delicious

The News with Susie Morice

Possibilities
From remarks by Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson
April 8, 2022

Meaningful notes from children
speak to hope and promise of America.
232 years for a Black woman to be selected to
serve on the Supreme Court of the U.S.
We’ve made it,
We’ve made it,
All of us,
All of us.
Here in America anything is possible.
Inheritor of the dream of liberty and justice for all.
All Americans can take great pride in this moment,
A long way toward perfecting our union.

Quirky Poems with Kim Johnson

Calling things by their 18th century names
How about the quirk you have
of calling things by archaic names? Like
Chest of drawers
instead
of dresser
Ice chest
instead
of cooler
Bathing suit
instead of
swimsuit
How was I supposed to know?
At least I don’t call a sofa a
davenport.

Definito with Margaret Simon (my poem)

Felicity is a friendly word,
Four syllables of fabulous–
Felicity is a jubilant songbird
Fortunate enough to have lungs
to be heard above the heartache
Fruitful and fertile,
He willingly warbles
a skillful tune of trust
Adroit in his happiness
Felicity

Birds are So Smart with Dixie Keyes 

What I Learned from the Birds and You

The way the Oriole serenades with no busker box
And keeps singing when no one listens.

The way a murmuration of starlings flies
across the sky with coordination and
grace, not hurting one another.

The way robins build nests for future
generations, without bragging
or competing with their neighbors.

I learned these things from you today, too–
the way you serve, love, and live life
without demanding credit for yourself.

Tell Me Without Telling Me poem with Scott McCloskey

Sleep in a crib in my parents’ room until old enough to know it was weird.
Scootch over in the big bed, so as not to lie in my sister’s nighttime accident.
Watch Mom sledgehammer a hole in the wall.
Watch her frame the hole into a doorway to the garage to make another bedroom.
Help make nine salads on individual plates for dinner.
Dry the dishes my sister washed when it was our team’s turn.
Always have someone my age to play, fight, and ride bikes with.
Always have someone older to teach me to read, do my nails, and comb my hair.
Never be home alone.
Never feel unworthy of love.