An early morning transcribing
messages from beyond
the sky- – a stunning blue
spring buds beginning their escape
an infrequent flock of seagulls
high above – cry to steal my attention
racing the robins to the first
morning call
The pen harkens back to the voice
of a poet, who the day before
I’d savored his own scribed words
his father’s voice
laced with his own
Writing poems is a service to others
gift those poems to someone
with the nib of your pen, his lesson
Share without fear! A poem can’t wait
for perfect conditions!
Braiding his message with that
of the morning seagulls cries
and the urgency of these spring leaves
it all flows at once into the river –
my passport to the day
The sky is the limit! the chorus sings.
Shari Daniels ~draft
To listen to Kim Stafford’s words: podcast/rattlecastpoetry: https://youtu.be/ZT0cnRH1Jy8
poetry
Poetry as resilience~SOL 4/31~2022
Mark Nepo joined the hosts, James Crews and Danusha Laméris on this fifth week of the Poetry as Resilience Retreat I have been participating in. Each Friday, for two hours, a poet guest shares how poetry has been a life giving force for them and ways for us to use poetry as a practice for sustenance in our daily lives. The retreat has been such balm for me at the end of each week, coming together with others who savor the lighthouse that poetry can offer us.
I want to share the essence of today’s words from Mark Nepo.
He teaches us,
Falling down and getting back up has a rhythm. There is an art to falling. We have to learn to to keep getting back up.
Our daily, weekly and yearly rhythms of emotional, physical, mental and spiritual selves have a rhythm as well. Repeatedly, we fall, not fail, but more of a letting go – a shedding – an acceptance that something no longer serves us.
This can completely undo us.
And, we need practices for getting back up.
For me, in the last few years, poetry has been this practice. The deep study of a poet each month has been a guide with their words through my days. The memorization of one poem, every now and then, gives me an ownership of those lines – an embodiment in which I can call to those lines at a given moment of need. They are waiting, at the ready. Poetry Dives with Kim Rosen have awakened me to the power of reading poetry out loud, with music, as a lubrication for those words to do it’s work.
Poetry has been my way of getting back up. Whether reading, writing and listening to poetry, it’s been my buoy and my anchor.
Today, I share a poem gifted by Mark Nepo, one that has found it’s way to my pages today:
The Rhythm of Each by Mark Nepo I think each comfort - each holding in the night, each opening of a wound, each closing of a wound, each pulling of a splinter or razored word, each fever sponged, each dear thinking given to someone in greater need - each passes on the kindness we have known. For the human sea is made of cares that mount and merge till the way a nurse rocks a child is the way that child all grown rocks the wounded, and how the wounded, allowed to go on, can rock strangers free of their pain. Eventually, the rhythm of kindness is how we suffer and pray by turns, and if someone were to watch us from inside the lake of time, they wouldn't be able to tell if we are dying or being born. From The Way Under the Way. Sounds True. 2016
If you’d like to create your own poetry retreat, you can listen to a poetry talk by Mark Nepo here or listen to James Crew’s in Poetry Writing as Self Care or maybe you’d also like to listen to Naomi Shihab Nye. I am so grateful that these artists share their work with us.
I am participating in the 15th Annual SOL 2022 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge.
The smallness of things~Sol 1/31~2022

Upon first morning steps outside the front door, my eyes rest on the smallish snow-like pebbles blanketing the ground. My work lately is to attend to these small wonders of the days that stretch out before me . . . distractions from the injustices and the anxieties of worldly events that dominate the screens.
I often ponder at how small one can go.
The sunshine seems too grand. The tropical breeze of 25 above zero (after weeks of 25 below) and the arrival of deer in the backyard all give me pause for gratitude, yet there are even more miniscule moments that go unnoticed, the less obvious. What Ross Gay calls “delights”.
How many can I capture on a given day? To carry me onward with more hope?
Reminders of this practice follow me around as Naomi Shihab Nye and Danusha Laméris have conversation about how these small moments in our everyday life offer us poetry for living. We neglected them pre-pandemic. Now, we admit, they are all we have to carry us onward.
On this particular day, these tiniest mysteries are spread out before me as far as my eyes can see.
Graupel, the internet tells me, is what it has been named. It screams to be a poem:
Graupel Bouncing snowflakes blanket the ground miniature Styrofoam balls formed in highly unstable atmospheres and convective currents warm air hugs close to the ground cold peers downward snowflakes tumble from the sky rain swaths it's melted tears cocooning the chill of winters end Shari Daniels draft~2022 I borrowed a few phrases from the internet to draft this poem, because sometimes I need help to get myself going.
I am participating in the 15th Annual SOL 2022 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge.
#2021 NPM~A Progressive Poem: Day 25

Some time ago, I added my name to the Kidlitosphere Progressive Poem contributor list. The Kidlitosphere Progressive Poem was born in 2012 by Irene Latham, of Live Your Poem, as a way to celebrate poetry during the month of April as a community of writers. The poem travels from day to day through the month of April, blog to blog, with each host adding a line to the poem as it unfolds in a magical way.
Margaret Simon coordinates this journey, and this year, Kathryn Apel, children’s author and poet has gifted us a beginning line in which to follow.
Here is the compellation of poetry lines that make up the poem thus far:
******************* I’m a case of kindness – come and catch me if you can! Easily contagious – sharing smiles is my plan. I'll spread my joy both far and wide As a force of nature, I’ll be undenied. Words like, "how can I help?" will bloom in the street. A new girl alone on the playground – let’s meet, let’s meet! We can jump-skip together in a double-dutch round. Over, under, jump and wonder, touch the ground. Friends can be found when you open a door. Side by side, let’s walk through, there’s a world to explore. We’ll hike through a forest of towering trees. Find a stream we can follow while we bask in the breeze. Pull off our shoes and socks, dip our toes in the icy spring water When you’re with friends, there’s no have to or oughter. What could we make with leaves and litter? Let's find pine needles, turn into vine knitters. We'll lie on our backs and find shapes in the sky. We giggle together: See the bird! Now we fly? Inspired by nature, our imaginations soar. Follow that humpback! Here, take an oar. Ahh! Here comes a wave -- let's hold on tight, splashing and laughing, let's play until night! When the Milky Way sparkles, and the moon’s overhead, *************
Tabatha Yeatts, at her blog home, The Opposite of Indifference, has offered me two lines to choose from and add to this poem, and then my task is to generate two more lines for Tim Gels to choose from as the next poet in line. Tabatha’s poetry line choices are:
we watch firefly friends signal with wings outspread or we make a pretend campfire and tell stories we've read
Myself, loving a good story, I’m choosing:
we make a pretend campfire and tell stories we've read
So, now, in repeating that finished last stanza:
Ahh! Here comes a wave -- let's hold on tight, splashing and laughing, let's play until night! When the Milky Way sparkles, and the moon’s overhead, we make a pretend campfire and tell stories we've read.
This poem is nearing the end, with a possible one stanza left and perhaps a closing line that leaves the reader lingering in wonderment. So, this last stanza feels like it must take a bend or pivot in some way.
Here are my two line choices for Tim to choose from and then to follow up with his own line:
You tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine.
or
Some stories are true and some myths of our time. **********************
Tim, at Yet There is a Method, I pass the baton off to you to see if you can make something of this.
Good Luck, Poetry Friend!
**********************
Please join in reading other poetry friends who contributed to this Progressive Poem this year:
April 1 Kat Apel at Kat Whiskers 2 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise 3 Mary Lee at A Year of Reading 4 Donna Smith at Mainly Write 5 Irene Latham at Live your Poem 6 Jan Godown Annino at BookseedStudio 7 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities 8 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care 9 Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche 10 Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone 11 Buffy Silverman 12 Janet Fagel at Reflections on the Teche 13 Jone Rush MacCulloch 14 Susan Bruck at Soul Blossom Living 15 Wendy Taleo at Tales in eLearning 16 Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe 17 Tricia Stohr Hunt at The Miss Rumphius Effect 18 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance 19 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link 20 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge 21 Leigh Anne Eck at A Day in the Life 22 Ruth Hersey at There is No Such Thing as a God-forsaken Town 23 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse 24 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference 25 Shari Daniels at Islands of my Soul 26 Tim Gels at Yet There is Method 27 Rebecca Newman 28 Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core 29 Christie Wyman at Wondering and Wondering 30 Michelle Kogan at More Art 4 All
Reasons to Bake #SOL 21/31 ~ 2021
There are many reasons to bake something.
You might have a hankering for a little sweetness. Or, perhaps the kids are coming for dinner. Maybe baking is something that you can actually admit to being skilled at – and if you’ve got something you know how to do, you don’t want to lose it, so to stay sharp, you keep up the practice. The challenge of baking that perfect dessert or sweets and perfecting a dish is an act I never grow tired of.
But, if I’m honest, I bake mainly for one person.
My husband.
Looking back in my notebooks over the years, there are common threads that always surface in the month of March. Snow melts and yard debris emerges, reminders of tasks undone from the fall. The snowmobile must be stored away, along with snowshoes and ice fishing gear. The lakes remain with layers of ice, but unsafe to trek onto for fishing or journeying across to the cabin. Hunting seasons pause. Fishing opener still two months out. Months of laps in the pool take a toll on my husbands shoulders and he drags into the house worn down from the extra hours in the long weeks of work.
He becomes little edgy. Quiet. Less giddy-up-ed-ness in his skipp-i-dee-do-da. Even Ella steers clear some days.
“If you could have anything, any kind of baked good, dessert or treat, what would it be?” I ask him.
“Geez,” appearing surprised at this question, “I don’t know, what are my choices? I need some perimeters.” He lights up just a bit, yet seems overwhelmed by the possibilities.
“There are none. Anything!” I respond.
He ponders for a bit and and after rambling some options, he decides.
“I would have to say apple-cherry pie. But, that’s kind of a lot of work,” he says Eeyore-like.
I was afraid he’d say pie. He’s right. Pie crust is temperamental and I’ve still forgotten to purchase a new rolling pin cover, so I’d have to use a cut up sock. There will be sticking problems rolling out the dough. I can do it. It’s just my own willingness to wrestle with this today is at a two on a scale of one to ten.
How can I make this pie without the uncertainty of the crust turning out or frustrations of a sticky rolling pin?
I decided to just press the crust into the pie pan with my hands. Perhaps I should have greased the pan, I don’t know. And, once the cherries and apple filling were added, just a topping for Dutch apple pie crumbles was added rather than rolling out a top crust. We’ll see what happens. It’s practice for my uncertainty muscles.
Appearances can be deceiving, so the true test of pulling this off will come at the actual tasting.
Oh my, it’s World Poetry Day today, so now I must shape this into a poem.
The days of Mid-March wear on us like a ship voyaging the ocean through weather of fraught rations dwindling cold, damp and weak. . . But, sun peeks through the thick heavy clouds land appears in the distance We'll make it through by holding one beautiful memory in our minds' eye an image, a scent, a pleasure a loved one, a dream or a place of warmth What is it for you, hon? Could you make me an apple cherry pie?
I am participating in the 14th Annual SOL 2021 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge.
Finding A Way Out of Darkness #SOL 19/31 ~ 2021
Directions for Light
Find an old notebook any will do composition notebooks more forgiving than fancy sketchbooks listen to music Helen Jane Long and piano is lovely or David Nevue dip a brush in some color sweep it across the width of the page extra water brings some light to the darkness let it dry blow on it if you must draw some letters start with the alphabet do it again and again if you like you don't have to if you don't want to write one sentence with letters you like any sentence will do whatever comes to mind doodle some flowers colored daisies are nice use a marker instead of a brush any color is fine there now you've made a pretty picture all ready for the first day of spring and there will be light i promise Shari Daniels draft I am participating in the 14th Annual SOL 2021 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge. I’m also participating in Poetry Friday this week. If you’d like to immerse yourself in poetry in this weekend, Linda at Teacherdance is hosting the party. Stop by and read some poetry or add your own!
For One Who Is Exhausted ~ #SOL 18/31~ 2021
The well is dry. For not lack of topics, wonders, stories or thoughts, but for the sole purpose of the fingers who resist the keyboard tonight. They are tired.
There are no breaks this semester. Spring break cancelled to prevent students from traveling. A few study days sprinkled here and there. But, that’s what they end up being. Days of study.
I’ve lightened our loads. Checked in on my students. How are you holding up? I ask.
Barely, they reply.
Teacher and student both yearn for new sights, for long nap-pish days, sun soaking into our skin.
But, carry onward we will. And, I’ll gift them a poem from John O’ Donahue.
But, it’s me who needs it more.
A Blessing For One Who Is Exhausted
When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight,
The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laboursome events of will.
Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out.
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken for the race of days.
At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.
You have travelled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of colour
That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.
~John O’ Donahue from his book To Bless The Space Between Us ~ A Book of Blessings
If you need the healing of O’ Donahue’s Irish voice, have a listen to his conversation here.
I am participating in the 14th Annual SOL 2021 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge.
I Am From ~ #SOL 17/31 ~ 2021
The Killian Homeplace in Lanesborough, County Longford, in the heart of Ireland – shared with permission from Joan Gallagher, of whom we share Great, Great Grandparents Luke and Anne Furey Killian. My Great Grandfather, Thomas Killian was born in this house..
It’s a special day to celebrate my Irish roots, my heritage, my ancestors and where I come from. . . my maiden name of Killian.
I am from the land of green hills, sharp rocks and waters crashing amongst the coasts, damp breezes and mist that bring about the wild cherry.
I am from houses made of stone, laid by hand, brick by brick, stone by stone. This shelter, a home where families are born, raised and let go, but always welcomed upon return.
I am from music. Guitars, pianos, accordions and harmonicas. And voices that harmonize and know each others’ tunes. Melodies sung in joy and celebration as well as in sorrow that takes us to the heavens. Wherever the Irish are – music you will hear.
I am from storytelling. Through voice or the pen, called to preserve and share stories of the day and yesteryear. Tales of wisdom and ancient lore, keepers of the flame.
I am from the lure of the drink. Guinness and rum, whisky and Bailey’s. Precursor for embellishments of the Irish lore, or a salve for the pain. Best friend or worst enemy. I’ll leave the liquid stars alone.
I am from Hail Marys and Our Fathers, commandments and confessions, Ash Wednesday and fish on Fridays, prayers that kept the children from perishing and mothers from distressing.
I am from big hearts filled with love, embracing and laughing and gathering and families and aunts and uncles and cousins.
I am from a blessing of what we know as Irish.
I am participating in the 14th Annual SOL 2021 March challenge. For 31 days, I will attempt to write and share a small slice of life from my days. If you’d like to read more of today’s slices from other teacher-writers, please head over to twowritingteachers, who have also committed to this challenge.