Category: Creativity

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January 27: In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

This company also publishes “Write The Poem” which I will also share in an upcoming blog post

I was browsing through our local used bookstore on a lunch break last week when, on my way out the door, a book caught my eye. Its title, Write the Story, glimmered in gold lettering down the spine, as if to plead: Hey, over here! See my sparkle? Take me home with you!

Already reaching for the doorknob, I changed course and went back to check it out. I expected a how-to on the writing process. Instead, I discovered the hidden treasure of a delightful writing challenge. Each page bore a titled topic with ten pre-determined (seemingly random) words to be used in the writing of a story.

The pages appeared to be blank except for one on which someone had penciled a story to satisfy one singular challenge and apparently moved on with life, abandoning the book and donating it to the bookstore, where it now rested in my hands. Treasure, indeed!

Poems to be written. Winter seeds of poetry, all scattered between the covers of one book. Destined for me, cast off like a stray no one else wanted, knowing all the while that a cultivator of words and writing would be most likely to pick it up, fall in love with it, take it home, and feed it.

I bought it and realized that other members of my small-group Stafford Challenge writers must have a copy. When we commit to writing a poem a day for a year, we all need a little prompting from time to time when the well runs dry or life gets too busy to think deeply like a poet. Once back inside the car, I turned on the heat and warmed up. I ordered three more copies online from the parking lot to send to Glenda Funk, Barb Edler, and Denise Krebs upon their arrival. Then I took a few snapshots to send them in the mean time.

Today’s title: In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

Words: opera, redeem, razor, lungs, grace, futuristic, tread, vest, powder, milkshake

In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

like that one lingering note

concluding a futuristic opera
treading frozen spring water

winter cleanses our lungs

razor-sharp alveoli icicles fall
sun breaks out in a crescendo
of seasonal transition
melting the white powder
milkshake from the mountainside
grace of its forgiving kiss
beckoning crocus, groundhog-like peepers
stretching up through frozen ground
ready to crawl out of bed
emerge from quilted slumber
shed their corm-sewn bud vests and
sing a new song



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January 25 – Mallory’s Birthday

she’s growing up fast

thirty nine years old today……

still my baby girl

Happy birthday to my first-born child today! She’s a kid at heart, and she loves to read. When she was little, we’d pile up on blankets or beds for book picnics – – she, her sister and I would do nothing but read all day long while the boys were out fishing. Last year, she read 144 books, stomping my 20 down to a pancake compared to her skyscraper. She still calls them her “chapter books.” Today, instead of raising a glass to my daughter, I open a book. It’s what we do best in our DNA.

Happy Birthday, Mallory!

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It’s Snowing Books!

One minute we’re expecting snow along with the ice storm of the century, but the next it’ll be 75 degrees and sunny. There’s a chance of snowfall, ranging anywhere from 0″ to 145.” I’ve heard it all this week, and I guess it’s safe to say we’ve prepared for all or nothing, just as they’ve said: prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And The Weather Channel is the best place to find a time loop where you live the same ten minutes on repeat. It may well be the portal for time travelers to take a jaunt in time somewhere far more stable than here.

I’m not sure what I’d take with me, but no matter where I am, all I really need are books, dogs, a comfy chair and a cup of coffee. My TBR stack is taller than I am, and I keep reading blog after blog after blog. This morning, Tom Ryan’s Substack featured the most joyful photos I’ve seen all year ~ his dog Emily (Samwise in the background) leaping for joy. He and his two dogs have just move to Cape Cod from the White Mountains of New Hampshire and are walking the woods where Mary Oliver wrote much of her poetry.

Today will be a day of quiet, peaceful living here on the Johnson Funny Farm an hour south of Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport, right on the flight path where we use our Flight Tracker app to check where all the planes have left and where there going. Fun times. Quiet: at least, that’s what’s planned, but things can go sideways here pretty fast. Fifteen times in the past five minutes, there have been earth-shaking gunshots out here in the deep rural country ~ deer? ducks? Who knows? The important thing is that the dogs are here tucked safely in our bed, the gas logs have plenty of propane, we’re stocked up on candles and have 12 pouches of tuna, a dozen boiled eggs, and cheese and crackers. And instant coffee.

Let the reading commence! Wherever this day finds you, even if your power goes out, I hope you stay warm and cozy.

the book is better

than any movie ever

our own minds film scenes

pennies, nickels, dimes

won’t buy a movie ticket

reading a book: free!

I’m currently reading Theo of Golden by Allen Levi.

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January List poem with Kim Stafford

We took time during The Stafford Challenge kickoff this past Saturday to write. Kim Stafford, son of William Stafford, read us a list poem written by his famous poet father, and encouraged us to look around the room and list what we saw to inspire writing. I love a rambling sort of list poem. Once everyone finished, we all put a line or two in the chat, and just reading the randomness of things and ideas could have become a collective across-the-world poem by all in attendance. We were to begin with the words It was….

It was

a Vermont Flannel blanket

soft, in earth’s plaid colors

a foxtail fern

in from the cold

a Magic keyboard

with all the words

a retro velvet swivel chair

from some Mattaliano company

in Chicago

looking rather Frank Sinatra & The Rat Pack

with the beaded curtains

hanging on the doors

a string of lights spiraling up

the staircase handrail

pooling in a twirl at the bottom post

a CocaCola table and two chairs

with oh-so-many memories

of lovers sharing a Coke float

in some black and white tiled floor diner

where the jukebox played

The Platters

and Patsy Cline

and a green fringed fleece scarf

with three initials – the new ones –

Christmas gift from a beloved sister-in-law

welcoming me into the

outlaw chaos of dysfunction

where I linger, full in love ~

by the Home Sweet Home and

Tree Farm candles

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Deep Sea Abecedarian Poem

Yesterday’s host for our third and final day of the January Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com was Denise Krebs of California. You can read her full prompt, her poem, and the poems of others here. She is one of my small group writing members in The Stafford Challenge, and I’m proud to call her a dear friend. We met in person at the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) and have presented together there a few times. When she’s not busy writing books and poetry, she’s off visiting grandchildren or riding her bike through the desert with her husband, coming home to a long-standing family home that she, her sister, and her husband restored.

The Deep Sea Parade

an artistry of angelfish
a buffoonery of blowfish
a charm of chum
a dazzle of dragonfish
an eloquence of eel
a flamboyance of flying fish
a gallancy of grouper
a harmony of humpback whales
an illustration of icthyosaur
a jubilance of jellyfish
a kinship of krill
a lumination of lanternsharks
a majesty of manatees
a narrowmind of needlefish
an openarmory of octopus
a pulmonation of pufferfish
a quarrel of quahog
a radiance of ribbonfish
a soldiering of seahorses
a thundering of trumpetfish
a union of unicorn fish
a vault of vampire squid
a whiskering of walrus
a xanadu of xiphosura
a yubadubdub of yellow soapfish
a zooband of zebra turkeyfish

and I joined the parade as the mermaid caboose
come join in, mermaids and mermen! 

We’ll be a murmuration ~
the finest mermaid nation!

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Year 3 of The Stafford Challenge Kicks Off Today

Have you ever wondered whether you could write daily?

Do you love poetry and prose?

f Are you strapped for time and wonder about the commitment?

Wonder no more.

Come on, take my hand and walk down the shore. See the beauty?

Join the Year 3 kickoff of The Stafford Challenge today. It’s not too late to sign up, and you may just ask yourself what took you so long to join. This writing circle is completely free (you can make a donation only if you want – and I did not donate until the 3rd year). You will meet writers from all over the world, be inspired by them, and have the option to join a small group writing circle (you can join with others you don’t know or form your own like we did), where you will share and form some of the closest long-distance relationships you’ve ever had. Even if you don’t consider yourself a strong writer – – or a writer at all.

Come on, stick your big toe in the water. It feels refreshing in here.

My small writing group meets the first Monday of each month ~ Barb Edler of Iowa, Glenda Funk of Idaho, and Denise Krebs of California. We catch up on life, we talk about what we’re reading and what we’re writing, and we share our poetry. Sometimes we write during our Zoom. You know that poem The Cure by Kate Baer in her latest book How About Now? It’s how I feel about my writing circles. This is so much more than breakfast.

Today is the kickoff, and you can sign up at this link. I would love to see you there today. I’ll send you a wave from my tiny screen.

Come on, dive in! You can swim or float, and either is divine.

writing, belonging

to a group of likeminded

poets, anchors me

Come on. I’ll be waiting.

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Thursday Thinking Tanka

In the true Stafford Challenge spirit, I’m sharing a blurb of prose and then sharing a poem. That’s how William Stafford wrote as a morning practice each day, and it’s what his son Kim modeled two years ago at the kickoff of the inaugural Stafford Challenge group led by Brian Rohr. Write into the day with free thought, then channel the thinking into lines of verse. Here’s what is on my mind today: more time to write. I’ve chosen a Tanka as my poetry form for this morning, and I’ll add a link to a well-known William Stafford poem at the bottom. It gets me every time.

Bean-Spilling Onward!

It’s Thursday and I

can’t stop thinking about one

thing: spilling the beans

when the moment of truth rings

when days turn into new dreams

Traveling Through the Dark by William Stafford

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On Kate Baer’s Latest Book: How About Now?

How About Now?

Kate’s done it again ~
written her best poems yet

…..dessert poetry!

how about now kate baer

Reading and writing circles in my life that started as groups but quickly became those who are now friends and sisters enrich my life in ways that bring depth and meaning to ordinary days. At the end of this week, one group will celebrate the finale of the second year of The Stafford Challenge, led by Brian Rohr in memory of William Stafford and will kick off year three with a launch party the next day. I’ll be there for both, but at first I wasn’t quite sure.

I didn’t participate in a small writing group with this larger group during its first year, deliberately waiting to feel the climate. Once you’ve participated in a few groups, you realize that there are some unhealthy ones out there and that it’s always best to stand back and take a long, hard look at who’s at the party and how they’re behaving before deciding whether to go all in and put your heart out there.

By the middle of the first year, I could sense that the larger group had plenty to offer, but I was still hesitant to take part in a small group with such an eclectic mix of personalities. I prefer positive people still growing as writers, and I’d sensed that there were a few who perceived themselves as professional poets with red pens, ready to offer venomous feedback on everything that didn’t align with their thinking. The few times I ambled into the Facebook group and posted a poem, it reminded me of a small town social media group with spiked collars and leather jackets and on…something, maybe steroids or stronger, and that simply wasn’t for me. I’d written a poem about my daughter’s birthday, and one lady accused me of being a racist because I’d used the expression gypsy vagabond. I took the poem down, satisfied that I’d finally confirmed that the idyllic pond was trolled by poet-devouring piranha.

I realized it wasn’t just me when one of my writing friends from my favorite larger writing circle shared that she, too, had experienced a troubling exchange in that group. Fast forward, and it turned out that four of us whose groups spanned to other circles were looking for a small group to continue in The Stafford Challenge, and so we formed our own that meets on the first Monday night of each month. We share what we’re writing, what we’re reading, what we’ve written, and what we’ve read. We talk grandchildren and husbands and children and pets, and we talk life. We inspire each other to keep writing, and we nudge each other to try new forms and techniques. We encourage and empower. There are no red pens.

That’s how I learned of Kate Baer. My friend Glenda Funk, a retired teacher from Idaho who travels the world with her husband Ken and is an avid reader who is also owned by some extremely spoiled and entitled Schnoodles, shared Kate’s book of found poems I Hope This Finds You Well, and I joined the fan club instantly. I didn’t think Baer could put out a better book of poetry, but Glenda mentioned last week that she’d just finished the latest Kate Baer, How About Now, and I finished it in one sitting yesterday. By the end of the day, I might have ordered one of those blue shirts on her website shop – – 1-800-How-About-Now. And the print of that favorite poem, How About Now, that you can read here.

And of course I surfed around, looking for more to dig deeper into Kate’s life and inspiration. The best reading I found was this interview https://cupofjo.com/2025/12/11/kate-baer-house-tour-pennsylvania-poet/ where we learn just how common her life is, and we realize that this is the way of the truest poets – the gifts of seeing the wonder in the simple things and being able to share it in words to tug at the hearts of readers with such enormity.

Consider my heart tugged, and consider me grateful for all the readers and writers in my life who offer such joy. You are what I think Kate Baer refers to as The Cure. Which, by the way, is my own personal favorite poem from her latest book.

P.S. I wanted to share one Substack author’s link about Kate’s Found Poetry in I Hope This Finds You Well.