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Keeping Count

5/5/2025

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Black and white image of duck and ducklings in pond
There were one, two, three,
four, five ... no, six, seven,
eight ... wait, nine, ten,
eleven ducklings swimming
in the small pond alongside
the path in the woods.

And the mother and
male duck, too, with his
irridescent head and white
collared neck.

Mallards.

They swam to the left, as
a group. Then to the right,
scattered and apart.

Over, under, and around
fallen tree trunks, branches,
and the ragged shoreline.

Together and apart, left to
right. Right to left.

Together and apart.

We whispered and wondered
at the beauty of it all.

At the blue sky reflected in
the still, dark water.

At how fuzzy and small the
ducklings were. At their 
doting mother, clucking
and guiding them.

Here, then there.

At the close proximity of the
vernal pond to the path and
the people and dogs that
so often pass by.

It wasn't until later, early
evening that we dared
even speak of it.

Attrition.

Not all, or even most,
of the ducklings will
survive.

Odds are, no more than
two or three will shed
the fuzz, grow feathers,
and learn to fly.

Not with all the snakes,
raccoons, and foxy
predators lurking about.

Eager, yet reluctant, we
returned to the pond the
next day, knowing we'd
once again do the count,
hoping for high numbers.

But there were none.

Not just ducklings, but the
male and female, too.

Gone.

Were they resting, we wondered?
Hoped. Camouflaged in plain sight
among the mottled leaves
and fallen branches?

We looked for ripples in the
water and movement in the
leaves, but found none.

So we imagined the brood
huddled close to one another
in the nest, resting, as they will
for hours each day, under a
protective wing.

And we thought of the fledglings.
The one, two, or three who
will beat the odds. The ones
who one day will take flight.
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Train Talk

4/29/2025

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Stylized bubble writing: Wa. Wa. Waaaa!!!
The low, long rumble tells us
it's a freight train lumbering
down the tracks through the woods
at the end of the road.

The short, light whizzing
informs us it's the
passenger rail.

But it's the stand-still box cars
with their graffiti-littered
panels painted in neon colors;
flashy art; and stylized,
hard-to-read words,
that scream for attention.

Parked for hours, and
sometimes days, on the
side-by-side rails,
passing trains wail at
their stationary
presence.

With two short blasts and
a long urgent bawl they
give warning to people and
animals alike ...

Wa. Wa. Waaaa!!!
Coming through.

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Walking in the rain

4/28/2025

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Black and white drawing of umbrella with words,
With
little wind
to sway it, the
rain falls in near
perfect vertical

formation

into rippling puddles
and gushing gutters.

It's a good day
for an umbrella.

And for the daffodils
and forsythia, too,
that shout ...

Yellow!
Yellow!


As we pass by
on this otherwise
gray day.

 
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Top Dog

2/24/2025

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Collage of tan dog with red and black plaid jacket with fleece collar and the words, Top Dog
With their
belted parkas,
buffalo plaids, 
fleece collars, and
quilted hoodies


fashion-forward
pound puppies, pugs,
terriers, hounds,
and retrievers

prance and strut
the sidewalk like
it's Fashion Week.

As they brace against
winter's cold in their
canine couture, they
set tongues, and
tails, to wagging.

-----------------

While winter is suppose to be cold, this winter has been unusually cold. Below average temperatures, with windchill temperatures dipping into the single digits.

It's no wonder we're seeing more dogs wearing jackets. 

No doubt the jackets
helps keep the dogs warm , but something tells me the fashion is more for the person at the other end of the lease.



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Nights aglow = poetry+collage

2/11/2025

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cut paper collage of night sky with snow and silhouette of trees
the overnight storm
fills the sky
with snow and
and blankets the
ground in white,
lighting the
night like a
full moon
lantern

When I woke during the night, the room was filled with soft light and the windows had a glow about them. I knew it wasn't the moon, it was obscured by cloud cover. It was snow in the air, on the trees, and the ground illuminating the landscape.

When something catches your attention, use it as a prompt, a way to capture the moment ... with a photograph, a drawing, or in this case, collage+poetry.

It's a short poem and a simple collage.

Simplicity can sometimes break the barrier to creativity and give you a place to begin.

Start small, and see what happens.
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Fish stories and tall tales

1/20/2025

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Collage: Ice fishing traps with view under ice of a fish on a hook, words above
He gathers his boots, buckets,
and creepers.
Grabs his
pack basket, traps,
hand auger,
and sled, and

stops
on the way for bait.

He warms himself drilling
through the ice,
inches thick,
until he
breaks through to

the water below.


He baits the hook, drops
the line through the hole,
sets the flag, and
depending on the lake
or pond he's on, begins to

imagine.


The bass, trout, salmon,
pickerel, or perch
swimming under
the surface.

But it's a waiting game,
where patience braces
against anticipation,

and the cold.

When a flag is tripped,
he wonders, is it a wind flag,
stolen bait, or is there a fish

on the line?


Hand over hand he
hauls the line feeling
for the resistance
that will tell him,

fish on.
 
And so begins a
real fish tale.


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Walking in a winter wonderland

12/27/2024

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Picture
With all the flowers
gone dormant, bare
trees, and muted
colors, you might
think there's not
much to see.

In this winter landscape.

Picture
But look!

There's color
and texture ...
and love
etched in
unexpected
places.
Picture
The secret of course
is to watch for it.

To train your eyes to
see the color and
shapes and signs
of the beauty that
surrounds us ...
no matter the season.

Picture
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It's a snow job

12/9/2024

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SnoFolk - Oceana snow sculpture with seaweed hair and shells for eyes and necklace
The plow
RUMBLES
down the road,
and like the
returning
tiDE
on a flat sand
beach, pushes
wAVes
of snow to the
side of the road,
sPiLLiNg
and rolling it into
driveways and
waLKways,
SiGnaLLinG
the tiMe is
riGht for
BuiLDing
cAstles and
maKing new
fRienDs


It's not always easy to find the motivation to bundle up and go outside on cold, snowy days, but when the storm passes and the sun comes out, a snow-covered landscape is a wonderland. There's a hush and fresh feeling in the air.

And if the snow is good for snowballs, it's good for making snow people.

Oceana above was one in a series of snofolk I made for winter greetings. She, like all the others, lasted a few good days before her seashell nose and muscle-shell necklace started to drop. She was quickly and gracefully dismantled.

Whether it's snowing or the sun is shining where you live, I hope you'll find your way outdoors today.

Despite the snowfall, winter has yet to arrive, but with visions of spring atop my desk, here's a close-up peek at another floral collage in the works the upcoming journal, A Garden of Good Things.
Picture
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A Squirrelly Imagination

11/2/2024

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Squirrel nest in birch tree against blue sky
Tree House

The trees, like stick figures,

stand bare against the sky.
Stripped of their leaves,
they reveal what's been hidden ...

Squirrel nests in
the crook of the
highest branches

Some, like efficiency
apartments, are small
and compact

Others, like penthouse
apartments, sprawl a
massive weave of twigs
and leaves

When a light breeze
blows, I imagine the
sway of the tree
lulling the squirrels
in sweet slumber

But when the gale
winds blow, I wonder ...
are they tossed
about like a ship at sea,
pitching to the left,
then right,
clawing
at the soft moss
that lines their
padded drey?

Or are they cocooned,
curled tight against
the wind with
a tickling tail
teasing
a twitching
nose?

Squirrel eating a peanut, collage
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On The Cat Walk

11/2/2024

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OnTheCatWalk Cat Collage
Stories Worth Sharing: On The Cat Walk
On The Cat Walk

There was a whisper of a chance
anyone she asked was
missing the gray cat
her neighbor, two houses down,
found on the stoop last night

I wasn't missing a cat and no one
had mentioned it here,
five blocks from where
it was found

Not until two days later when
we heard the children,
like mewling kittens,
searching for the cat

They were walking and
knocking, house to house,
door to door with their mother
repeating their plea again and
again

we lost our cat,
have you seen a cat?
a gray cat?


we lost our cat,
have you seen a cat?
a gray cat?

When they came to
the door and once again
said we lost our cat,
have you seen a cat?
a gray cat?


I said I hadn't seen a
cat, a gray cat ... but
five blocks away someone
said they found a cat,
a gray cat

The news, like catnip
infused them with them giddy
anticipation, leaving them
unable to focus

So we walked together to the
house five blocks away
where the cat was found
on the stoop of the
house on the corner

Like a merry band in a
parade, the cat walk
took us one block up,
three down, and one over

And there she was,
the cat, the gray cat
just one block from home,
behind a floor-to-ceiling
glass door, in the house
on the corner where she
was found

The cat preened and paced at
the rush of children on the
other side of the glass, and
on our walk home we purred
over the success of their
clawing persistence in
finding their cat

the gray cat

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Not so sappy: writing prompts in nature

4/23/2024

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black and white collage of three maple trees with sap buckets on sheet music
When the sap is running
 
There's a house on the corner
where they tap the
maple trees

Three trees, one bucket for each

There's another house
where they used to
tap the trees,
but don't anymore

I wish they did

That was the house
where they put out
the metal buckets

The house that still taps the
trees uses plastic buckets,
sky blue

If the light is right, you can
see the sap level through the
plastic and watch it rise, surge
even, from one day to the next

It's fascinating really, to see
how much sap is released
from the tree

With the metal buckets, you
can't see the sap level,
but I prefer them anyway

Camouflaged against the bark
of the tree and the still-bare
landscape, they cast a
knowing silhouette ...

A reminder that, although
it's hard to see, change
is upon us

Cool nights will give way to
warmer days, the sap will flow,
and the flowers will, once
again blossom

Makes me wish I had a maple tree

--------

Branching out ...
The maple sugaring poem is a modified version of a piece I wrote a while ago. It came to mind when I was thinking of making a pop-up book and needed something to pop. It's the next step in my book-making journey.

Experimental pop-up book structure of tree with sap bucket
Studying how to create a structure ... one that will open and close properly has me snipping, folding, and gluing long past my bedtime.

This is a prototype. Rough, inefficient, and utterly captivating. I'll keep you posted on how it's going.
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Bookmaking ... ready in a jiff?

4/15/2024

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photo of handmade book with a collage of a Jiffy corn muffin mix on the cover
The title of this story might also be "Don't try to do it all in one project."

After finishing my Solitaire book, I wanted to try another using a poem I'd written about cooking with a friend. The collage of the Jiffy box was created when I wrote the poem, so I figured I was halfway there.

Not quite.

Like the first book, there were unexpected hurdles and so many decisions to make.
photo of book title page with collage of a spoon and title,
Though I do a lot of handmade collage work, most of my design work has been computer generated. As a graphic designer I've created posters, magazines ... and books ... on the computer. Books that are printed and bound in a print shop.

Not by me, not by hand.

Building a handmade book is new to me and it's been challenging.
photo of second page spread of book with collage of muffin tin and words: Whenever I make corn muffins with the Jiffy mix in the blue and white box with the wax paper liner, I think of him.
Another problem was making the project more complicated than it needed to be ... like trying to hand letter the text or create pen and ink drawings to illustrate the book. It was all too overwhelming.

My lettering wasn't good enough (in my eye) and the illustrations looked, well, too primitive.

Collage is where I'm comfortable, so for now and for this book, I decided to stick with what I know.

One learning curve at a time.
The next problem was thinking it all had to be perfect. I ripped out, tore apart, and recreated many, many pages to get things "just right."

Well, it's impossible, especially when so much is so new.

Now that the book is done, I know the cover material is too thin. It's warping.

The endpapers on the inside of the front and back covers don't line up exactly as they should.

And the stitching that holds the book together is not quite right. It should extend further up and further down along the spine.
photo of final page spread with collage of corn muffin and words: Ready in a jiff.
Some problems I recognized before the book was complete, but there had been so many delays and changes, I just had to let some be, and push forward.

In the end, it's not perfect, but I'm pleased with the book, and here's why:

When I decided to make the book, I hadn't read the story in a while.

What a treat it's been to be taken back to that day in the kitchen.

April is National Poetry Month. Both stories in my books came from short poems. Narrative poems. No rhyming, no formal structure.
Are you interested in writing your stories? Try a narrative poem. Use a story you started in a letter, expand on a story you wrote in a journal, or one you mentioned in a diary. 

Explore a story that stays with you.

It can be as short or long as it needs to be.

Whether its making books by hand or writing stories, the most important thing is to start ... and keep stirring.


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Dinner may be late tonight ...

3/10/2024

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wire sculpture of chalice with flower inside
Dinner may be late tonight

We'll blame it on the clock ...
on daylight saving time and
the bewilderment it creates
in the long shadows of
the afternoon sun

in the decorative patterns
that inch across the wall and
lull us into thinking it's
earlier than it is
 
when the clocks
spring forward


More doodling ...
Black and white drawing of chalice with flowers inside
This is a drawing I created ... and the inspiration for the 3-D wire replica above. It's all a bit wonky, but it cast the right light and gave me the idea for today's poem.

We often think that writing memoir or our stories requires big events or a lifetime of adventure.

That's a lot of pressure.

Why not start with small moments that make you pause?

Every year daylight saving time messes with my timing. For a week or so, it's either later or earlier than I think.

It's easy to imagine we are ruled by the clock and the ping of our phones, but on occasions like this, it's nice to know nature's light still rules the day.

Go ahead, write about something small, you've got time.

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A do-si-do and nowhere to go

1/29/2024

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Abastract collage of grocery store aisles
A do-si-do and nowhere to go

We came face to face in
a standstill at the end
of the aisle across
from where the whipped cream
in a can sits on the top shelf
of the refrigerated section
against the wall

he shifted to his left
I shifted to my right
and we were back
where we started

head to head
cart to cart

A do-si-do with
nowhere to go

So he called it ...

with a nod of the head
he dipped to his right
and I did too

pushing forward
we passed one another
shoulder to shoulder
a side-stepping sashay
that ended with a
two-step twist when he said ...

thanks for the dance.

 

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RAT-A-TAT, TAT : falling into poetry

10/10/2023

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Picture

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The quiet shuffle of cards

5/21/2023

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collage of checkerboard on sheet music with hearts and four symbols from a card deck: club, heart, diamond, and spade with hearts in alternating boxes

I was restless and it was late ...
far too late to be making noise,
so my options were limited

when I grabbed the deck
of cards that sits on
the bookshelf for
someday or sometime

it was a surprising move

because really,
they don't get much use,
but I thought ...

Solitaire,
I'll play,
Solitaire

the cards, still like new,
were stiff and slippery,
hard to shuffle,
and I couldn't
remember all the rules

so I faked it and won
and thought,
that was easy

too easy

so I searched for
instructions and found
it wasn't so easy
after all

game after game
I lost until
I was no longer
restless, but tired,
and went to bed

and played again
the next day, and the
next

and lost

again and again
and again
until yesterday
after days and
weeks of following the
rules ...

I aced it on a quiet
evening with a full house

-----------

While I didn't have a lot to say about playing Solitaire, I wanted to write a short piece about how calming it was to shuffle the cards and how sticking with it (finally) gave me the reward of winning.

Solitaire is a good game when you're not sure what to do. Playing with playing cards vs. online adds a physical dimension and allows for less screen time. Here's how to play.



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Something to crow about: poetry as story

3/29/2023

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black and white collage of two crows prancing
The CRoW in tHe
SNow
sEEmed to
let iT aLL

GO.

It froliCKed
and
fLUTTered
and fANNed
hIGH and LOw.

PreeNing oR
pLAYing,
I'm sURe
I dON't KNow.

BUt let
Me jUSt say ...

Ohhhh,
whAt a ShOw.

Oftentimes, there are events you want to capture, but as a stand-alone story, there's just not enough material to write more than a few sentences.

When that happens, try a narrative poem.

It's a storytelling form of poetry you can use as a tool to share snippets of your life. Moments in time that bring joy, clarity, or greater understanding.

I've never seen a playful crow ... they keep their distance, often conjure (undeserved) negative vibes, and perch and fly with purpose. Off-guard displays of preening and play are not common ... at least not in my experience.

I wanted to remember the crow and how such a seemingly upright, formidable bird let it all go.

It's a reminder to seek, observe, and remain open to discovery, surprise, and wonder.

And when there's not much to say, but saying it is important, write a poem.

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A story about a hat, a thesaurus, and words that rhyme

1/15/2023

2 Comments

 
Collage of brown hat with rolled edge and tassle top
We stopped to chAT
with the lady in the hAT.

She wAS, like us,
dressed foR the weaTHer ...
wHEther shE liked iT or nOT.

The weaTHer thAt is.

WinTER weaTHer.

WhETHer it'S brISK and brIght
or gray like tOdAY,
we bUTTON and bOOT it.

Then we snAP, zIP, and
tUCK it, tOO.

bUT we'D qUIVER and shiVer
if thAT was aLL thAT.

So wE pAUSe and we pONDer
for thAT which iS thAT ...

WhERe's my hAT?

This poem came together over the course of a few days with the help of a thesaurus and a rhyming dictionary.

Both are helpful in similar and different ways. The rhyming dictionary does just what it sounds like, finds words that rhyme with one another ... in this case I was looking for words that rhyme with hat. Quiver and shiver came to me without the dictionary ... but maybe they were inspired by it?

The thesaurus is, I think, a sometimes overlooked tool for writing.

Word choice makes a difference.
2 Comments

It's easy to forget ... writing a narrative poem can help you get started

9/26/2022

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the word autumn in brown calligraphy with two cancelled stamps: a sunflower and squash all placed on a watercolor background of browns and greens
It's easy to forget how
much the light
changes,
how brisk the
air becomes

how summer
greens and wax
beans get squashed
in the mashing of
buttercup, butternut ...
and blue hubbard, too

how apples and
pumpkins now vie
for the pie

and a warm bowl of
soup makes me slurp,
sip, and sigh

------------------------

If you're struggling to write, try a short narrative poem like the one above. Short lines with lots of detail can help you put your thoughts into words.

Focus on word choice, and for fun, throw in some rhymes. If you're stuck, grab a thesaurus or a rhyming dictionary and see what comes up.

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For the love of conversation

6/5/2022

2 Comments

 
Red background with burgundy lip kiss in middle
Yesterday we stopped to
chat with Mac Daddy --
a man of few words who
walks with his dog, Mac.

We call him Mac Daddy
because we don't really know
him—or his name, but were once
introduced to the dog, Mac.

We crossed paths on the trail
in the woods out by the
railroad tracks.

We said—isn't it a beautiful day.

He said—yes it is.

We said it was good to be
out in the woods on such
a nice day.

He said he's been walking
out in the woods on the trail
for years.

Said his wife grew up
in the neighborhood.

Said they courted out there --
all "kissie face and huggy bear."

We parted with lingering laughs
and silly smiles, giddy with
conversation about what
people you hardly know
will tell you.

 
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