Here is one of my poems from the Chaos Section Poetry Project’s new anthology, What We Hold On To: Poems of Coping, Connection, and Carrying On. Thank you to editors, Nick Allison and Rachel Armes-McLaughlin
I’ve added my audio reading of the poem.
I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Night.
Looking for a Blue Moon
The world’s a puzzle
with a million missing pieces,
mothers gone too soon,
children with lost innocence,
victims of hate
in tidal wave swells. We wait
for full-faced guidance, seek
the moon’s crooked smile
hanging in the sky—
a brief suspiration,
seen, then gone.
A quadrille (a poem of 44 words ) for dVerse, where the prompt word was smile. Steve of Song of the Day did a recent post on “Listen to the Radio” by Nanci Griffith, and that made me think of her song, “Just Once in a Very Blue Moon.”
Thank you to author Curtis Smith for the thoughtful questions, and thanks to JMWW for publishing the interview!
Continuance
“Then — then it is night. But you do not forget the Light. You know it still shines — somewhere.”
–Mina Hubbard, quoted in The Marginalian
Once again, the glaucous sky
turns cornflower, then cobalt,
a grey shroud lifts and falls,
light kisses shadows
as the river does what rivers do,
flows on,
while the other living things,
the assiduous squirrels and rounding robins–
down to the smallest ticks and microbes–
hibernate, hitchhike, reproduce–continue
the geese murmur to one another,
then honk in attention,
in alarm
uniting against the danger—
only desperate eagles
will attack, but men
are unscrupulous predators
who poison the air
with a miasma of lies,
and cluster-bangs of bullets,
masked men with delusions
of grandeur and hate-filled hearts,
feverish with fury,
but it’s we who bleed,
who are murdered.
Here is their legacy—
one motherless child,
then another, and another
a stuffed animal
left in a glove box
widows, widowers, orphans,
all of us
left watching blood
drip on the streets,
as the earth spins,
and the river flows on.
Hello again. Has it only been one week? This morning, I woke wondering what will happen this week. Every week seems like a year now—Venezuela, rewriting January 6, the murder of Renee Good by an ICE agent, and the attempts despite all the videos to rewrite what happened there—and there are still court cases, abuses, RFK the Lesser’s disastrous policies, and the still unreleased Epstein files. Both Joyce Vance and Heather Cox Richardson had good summaries last night/this morning.
We are still waiting for the Epstein Files to be released, despite the law requiring the DOJ to do so.
Despite all that, most of us—those not directly impacted yet–are still living our lives, going to work, paying our bills, and trying to find joy where we can. I had some poetry acceptances and some poems published this week. Life goes on with small joys and delights.
We had some beautiful spring-like days this week—it was wonderful for walking–then rain Friday night and Saturday. Though one day while I was out walking, I heard gunshots–like maybe a shot gun? All the geese flew up and around–out to the river and then back, very agitated. There was a man in a small boat. A woman in the park said she saw him sail into a cove and then the shots stopped. It was definitely unsettling. On Friday night, we went to Blue Cork Winery for a book club discussion of Wuthering Heights. I enjoyed reading this classic novel. A few people who had never read it before were very surprised to find it is not the romance novel they expected! But we had a lively conversation. It’s a wonderful novel to discuss.
I did not have the energy to stand and walk in the rain to protest in Philadelphia on Saturday. Instead, I made a pot of soup from this and that and finished another novel, Emma Donoghue’s Paris Express, which I enjoyed very much. I think it helped that I didn’t know anything about the incident, a disaster captured by photographers at the time. It’s a short novel that takes place on one day from the departure of the Paris Express train in Normandy to its arrival in Paris in 1895. I like that all her novels are different, stand-alone books. We also FaceTimed with our older child and granddaughter. She’s almost a year old!!
I attended Paul’s Short’s online writing group on Thursday afternoon. I feel like I was not at my best, sort of shell-shocked from the week, but Paul is a great host who gives excellent writing prompts and news of upcoming opportunities.
On Sunday morning, we protested in a local weekly protest. This week it was a coalition of groups, and there was a larger attendance. I believe close to 200 people were there. When I saw a video later, the line of protesters extended farther down the street than I could see while we were there. I don’t have good photos of the protest. There seemed to be more honks of approval, though there were a couple pro-felon and Ice shouts and a couple middle-fingers out of car windows. I can’t understand how anyone ever supported him, but now? I can only assume that they get their news strictly from right-wing soundbites. We had to leave the protest early because we were pet-sitting for our daughter. We went from her house to home; I had a quick lunch and then attended Paul Short’s The Book Bag online open mic, where I read two poems. It was a lovely session with fantastic poetry. Then we drove back to our daughter’s house to feed her dog and cat dinner, and back to our house to feed our kitty boys and ourselves.
I know not everyone can protest for physical or mental reasons, but it’s up to all of us to counteract the lies when you hear them. Call or email representatives and other officials. There are virtual events, too, from Indivisible, Red, Wine, and Blue, and other organizations. It helps to know you are not alone, and we are all in this together.
*Look for the helpers and be one if you can.*
One of my haiku written for the Encircling theme for Pure Haiku. I find haiku a challenge to write, so I am especially pleased to be shortlisted for this theme. Thank you, Freya!
What We Hold On To: Poems of Coping, Connection, and Carrying On, the latest anthology from the Chaos Section Poetry is now live! I’m pleased and honored to have three poems included in this collection. Thank you to editors Nick Allison and Rachel Armes-McLaughlin. You may read the entire anthology for free on the Website or download a pdf copy. There will be a print copy available soon. Purchase of the print copy helps to offset expenses for this worthy poetry project.
Laundered
In the arid, winter-dark
a thousand sparks fly,
looking for a conductor,
any could cause
a conflagration–
infinite possibilities
(to breathe free)
imagine
if we could
(stop shooting)
wash and rinse
in sun-streams and moon-rivers,
apply a fabric sheet layered with
feathers from a galactic phoenix
to tumble us dry,
to soothe the static,
to leave us scented
with hope as we rise.
I don’t always share them here, but this is my poem for this week’s Poems About on Bluesky. The prompt word is static.
January 7, Minneapolis
Masked men,
another notch,
bonus pay.
They are killing us,
mothers–
no one out of bounds,
they shoot puppies, don’t they?
This ice is a black hole,
it doesn’t sparkle; it holds no light.
For readers outside the US, this is what happened yesterday. The current regime persists in its lies, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
I’ll add my Monday Morning Musings line here,
*Look for the helpers and be one if you can. *
January 6
“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it”
–Mary Flannery O’Connor, in a letter written September 6, 1955
On this anniversary
let’s tell the truth—
he was the instigator,
and they were violent.
Let’s deal in facts,
an attempted coup,
insurrectionists
passes, pardons—
follow the money,
read the text.
Let’s strive for credibility,
not myth,
let’s not transform traitors
into heroes,
let’s not whitewash,
or attempt to erase–
it was a day of hate, not love,
of desecration, looting, killing–
and he did not stop them.
May it please the court.
Liberty and justice for all.
Raise your voices,
shout, sing,
light is the essence
of democracy, of all–
swifter than any lie.
I started writing this poem before I learned the White House has put up a page about Jan. 6 that is false—completely false, simply outright lies. It is horrifying and disgusting. We are in Orwell’s 1984. I will not quote from the site here, and I will not quote the felon.
Before I read about the WH January 6 rewrite, I had heard and read about the missing plaque honoring the capitol police officers who defended the capitol and those there on that day:
“On behalf of a grateful Congress, this plaque honors the extraordinary individuals who bravely protected and defended this symbol of democracy on Jan. 6, 2021,” reads the faux bronze stand-in for the real thing. “Their heroism will never be forgotten.”
https://www.npr.org/2026/01/06/nx-s1-5668076/january-6-plaque-law-enforcement-capitol
Keep protesting, keep sharing the truth.
Don’t forget about the Epstein files.
Further Reading:
https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/january-6-2025-e01
On the Day the US Invaded Venezuela, I took a Walk
Unsettled, uncertain,
ice-haunted, I watched the geese
again, their rhythms a secret to me,
the increased intensity of bicycle-horn honks
their parabolic flights in formation–
river, shore, river, shore
an ebb and flow,
fueled by the need to survive,
unfouled by greed or hate
there are no dictators here,
the sun and moon
laugh at the thought,
as they toss kisses at the birds
from behind cobwebbed curtains,
while across lightyears and wind-whispers,
deep time remembers
prehistoric ancestors
and ghosts of stars–
some would pick at the scabs,
pour salt into a wounded universe–
rapture and retribution–
but I look at caramel clouds
and recall
constellations of daffodils
that sleep in darkness beneath the frozen earth,
waiting to force themselves upwards toward light, in opposition,
they bloom.
Hello again and happy new year! I feel like we’ve lived a lifetime this past year. Has it only been one year, that the felon, now possible war-criminal, would-be destroyer of the Constitution has been in power? The memories of the holiday season have been wiped away by the events of this past weekend. We now live in the country of the bad guys, the black hats, not the white ones. If you live outside the US, or have been asleep, US forces invaded Venezuela, attacked Caracas, killed civilians, and captured/kidnapped Maduro and his wife. Maduro is a bad man—I think most people agree on that—but to just go into a country to take him is against international and US law. In the US, the power to declare war rests with Congress, not the president. And to simply go into another country like that?! The demented one has made it clear that it is all about oil, along with establishing hegemony in this hemisphere (since he’s destroyed our traditional alliance with Europe). We are tipped over, one foot on the cliff, the other in the air–about to become a place like Nazi Germany, and it is very frightening. What is scarier though, is that so many remain unaware or just shrug.
I was pleased to see one of my senators, Cory Booker, quoted at length in Joyce Vance’s post this morning.
“just as glaring, and far more damning, is Congress’ ongoing abdication of its constitutional duty. For almost a year now, the legislative branch has failed to check a president who repeatedly violates his oath, disregards the law, and endangers American interests at home and abroad.”
But good things last week—my husband, who came down with cold-like symptom very suddenly late Sunday afternoon of last week, felt better by Tuesday night. On Wednesday afternoon, we drove into Philadelphia—not a fun drive in the congested streets—to pick up our NYE’s wine and cheese from Tria. We’ve done this virtual event for several years. It is hosted on Zoom by Tria’s wine director, and this year by the cheesemaker at Birchrun Cheese in Chester County, PA. Oh, that cheese was good! Included were small bottles of Champagne and a French sauvignon blanc that we liked, and a full bottle of a California Sparkling Viognier. We had pours of an amphora-fermented white Portuguese wine, a burgundy, and a madeira to close. Then there were lots of goodies to mix and match with the cheeses—lavender honey, mustard, chocolate-fig jam, and more. Also, a full, delicious baguette was included.
Our kitty boys were busy behind the scenes.
It was cold on New Year’s Day, and we had a sprinkle of snow early in the morning.
I finished Wuthering Heights—book club discussion coming up later this week—and read Broken Country for a book club meeting on Tuesday.
We finished Stranger Things—all the feelings! I’m sad it’s over. Then finished Pluribus, which, no surprise, ended with a cliff-hangar.
We streamed the movie, It was Just an Accident, the Palm d’Or winner at Cannes this year. It was written and directed by Jafar Panahi, who has been arrested and imprisoned several times in Iran, and I believe was just arrested again. I had wanted to see it in the theater, but we didn’t get a chance. It tells a devastating story and is fiercely anti-authoritarian, but it also questions what people would do given the chance. It unfolds as a sort of comedy of errors, and there are funny bits, as an auto mechanic kidnaps a man he believes was his torturer in prison. But, since he’s not certain, he picks up others who were also tortured along the way, and they all ride around in a van. They include a bride and groom in their wedding finery and the couple’s photographer. There is a surreal feeling to the movie and allusions to Godot. I don’t know that I loved the movie, but it’s an interesting one that I’m still thinking about.
Yesterday, we protested at a local weekly Sunday anti-Ice /support immigrants protest. In the afternoon, we finally got together with our daughter and son-in-law to exchange Christmas gifts (and we discussed Stranger Things). This is one of the gifts I got from them. It’s a kitchen towel—look closely.
Please call/write your congress people. Please protest however you can.
What is in the Epstein files?????
Stay safe.
*Look for the helpers and be one if you can.*
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 