VerseLove Day 4: Living Poets

Instructions for Traveling with Living Poets

I’m hosting today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the fourth day of VerseLove to celebrate National Poetry Month. Hop on over there and write with us today! Follow this link.

Inspiration 

I made a commitment to follow more living poets in 2026, and I’ve been on a remarkable journey of discovery ever since.  As a third-year member of The Stafford Challenge, it brings great joy to see a surge of interest in modern poetry! At my father’s funeral in June 2025, I chose a poem from an anthology of living poets to read at his graveside – not one written long ago.  I reached out to the poet to let her know I planned to read it, and I sent her a recorded clip of that reading. Imagine my surprise when, with tears in her eyes, she sent her own recorded message back explaining that it was her own cancer journey that had inspired her deeply moving poem. I hope to meet her in person this summer when I travel to Portland, Oregon.

Joy Sullivan, author of Instructions for Traveling West, is one of the living poets I follow on social media.  Her Substack, Necessary Salt, captivates me with each new post.  I think what I find most enthralling is the sheer glory she finds in everyday moments.  I invite you to go on a living poet journey to find new writers throughout the month.  Use their work to inspire your own, even borrowing their style and a line or two to frame your own poem.  You can find living poets at Teach Living Poets, Poetry Foundation, and by using search engines to discover others. 

Process

I’ve selected a poem by Joy Sullivan to get us acquainted with each other using the title alone: The cashier at the gas station asks me where I’m from.  Here is the poem free to download from Pinterest. 

Choose a person and setting (i.e. cashier at the gas station, pastor at church, mysterious stranger at the bar, waitress at a restaurant, passenger on an airplane, etc.) and introduce yourself.  Title your poem as Joy Sullivan does, and offer us a glimpse into your world.

My Poem

The Soapmaster of Green Willow Soaps asks me where I’m from

so I tell her: an hour south of Atlanta

because no one has ever heard of this place

and besides, these towns are so tiny we all just say

                      Pike County

which is small enough to spit watermelon seeds

across, where the sunsets rival Titian red

when we look over Alabama-way

but what I don’t tell her as I place bars of 

Mountain Mist, Morning Citrus, and Purple Haze

into my arm basket

is that I’m plotting retirement in these mountains

sipping black coffee on my porch

         in the shadows of Blue Ridge 

channeling inner birdsong and crystal-splashing waterfalls

Engelheim Vineyards

Like John Muir, I often feel the mountains calling…..and I must go.

I was reminded of a story Dad told about his grandfather who once lived in Gainesville, Georgia, a mountainous area of our home state. Somewhere along the way, a rock marking his homestead was moved from that place in Gainesville by a family member to Dad’s house on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and one day this month, my brother and I will be retrieving it to go to our cousin Kathy Gilmer’s house. Kathy is compiling a book of family stories and will be the next keeper of the rock. I’ve often wondered where my inner mountain calling came from, and now I know how the mountain spirit got in my soul. Over the years, people have asked me how I could move away from the beach. Let me tell you something: densely-populated tourist-thronged beaches ripe with heat and humidity hold no sway over the tranquility of mountains in the early morning when the mist is rising and a veil of silence hangs low before sunrise. The clean air, the cool temperatures, the majestic views, and the vineyards are just as pure as the ocean, without the need for flood insurance.

So I did what any good daughter channeling her inner mountain gypsy would do right after Dad died and there was a space of resetting between the final days, the death, the funeral, and the business of closing down shop.

I rented an Airbnb in Ellijay and took my soul Schnauzer, Fitz, on a dog-friendly vineyard-hopping tour. Our first stop was Engelheim (translation: angel home) Vineyards, where Fitz’s German roots inspired me to order the Riesling, and every last sip was divine.

We must keep our sense of adventure alive…..whether with wine or with travel excursions or with ice cream, as we discussed in some of Dad’s final days of his life. The nurse in the hospital had offered him only vanilla or chocolate, and my brother, sister in law and I were discussing this with Dad. You can listen here:

Engelheim Vineyards

a glass of Riesling with Fitz

perfect afternoon

My vineyard hopping buddy Fitz with a glass of Riesling at Engelheim Vineyards in Ellijay, Georgia – cheers to the German breed and the German wine!