A Glimmer in the Gloom
There are still robins
chirping in the trees,
still scattered shapes
of pink, red, yellow,
an endless kaleidoscope,
shadows and light unmoored,
sculpting their own beauty.
Now the robins coax
the hidden sun,
now the bare boughs
reach up in supplication,
winter’s monotone drones-on.
A quadrille (a poem of 44 words) for dVerse. The prompt word, which must be included, is coax.
Stories
Every night I dream
stories of what was, and what might be
a delicious dazzle of mind-mazed
heart-feels, the timeless breath
of the cosmos, kisses of the past,
the merging of if with when,
rising,
every day I wake
to a new story, the story of today,
now the wolves of winter
are growling in the distance,
the shivering trees are losing
their stained-glass gowns,
pools of light rest lightly on the ground
like shallow bowls of pumpkin soup,
the heat not lasting,
but just enough to nourish
the fleeting beauty part of the eternal story,
the princess awakened, spring returned
in the turning of seasons, of Earth, of moon
commanding tides to flow or ebb,
the chemical magic of everyday, of air,
of yeast, the rising of dough, bread, wine
you, me—
all connected, rooted,
even our bones and ashes–
all part of our world’s story.
Sing to me now
of the Snow Queen,
the girl and boy who defeat her,
un-freeze hearts
with whispered words of love
carried by wind-whistles,
hear it late at night, as the river sighs
carrying on,
as a cat curls with contentment
at your feet,
and you both dream.
Hello again. Do you remember the days when we didn’t wake each morning wondering what had happened overnight? Sigh. Now the demented felon wants the Epstein Files released? Perhaps Joyce Vance is correct in thinking that since he announced an investigation, his lawyers will object to the files being released (like his tax returns).
It has gotten colder, and it’s been very windy this past week (and today). I didn’t walk outside several days because of the wind. (I do run and workout inside.) Yesterday, however, we were in Philadelphia, and we walked around a bit before seeing The Snow Queen at the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. It was the first time they’ve done an all-ages show. It was fun, and the children in the audience seemed to enjoy it. There was a storyteller who told the tale, and in the playbill, the director wrote of how his father used to tell him stories. Afterwards, we walked over to Tria, where we sat at the bar and watched a server concoct a new winter drink. The sun was already setting as took the train home.
We’re still re-watching Stranger Things, which could be the title of any week since the new regime took over the government. I’m getting ready for Thanksgiving. I baked challah, made applesauce, and I’ve written lists of lists. I made pizza for us on Saturday night. This is the season of making soups and stews.
As for poetry, I participated in two open mics last week. Last Sunday, was the first one Paul Short has hosted (mentioned in last week’s musings), and on Wednesday, it was back to Black Bough’s open mic. It was a lovely, convivial group with some excellent new faces and voices. It’s fun when it’s a small group, and we can chat—or sing a truly terrible echo-delayed “Happy Birthday!
I’m one of the poets on this week’s Eat the Storm’s podcast. I’m not good at recording; fortunately, Damien was able to work his magic on the one I sent to him! Here’s the Web page. You can listen wherever you listen to podcasts. https://eatthestorms.com/2025/11/16/eat-the-storms-the-poetry-podcast-episode-5-season-10/
As always
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Elizabeth Gauffreau’s new novel, The Weight of Snow and Regret, captivated me from the first page. To be totally honest, the title made me want to read the book, but it was the opening chapter that hooked me. The novel tells the story of the Sheldon Poor Farm, the last such place in Vermont, and one of the last in the US. I’ve worked with 18th and 19th century poorhouse records, but I had no idea that poor farms existed into the 1960s, and a few into the 1970s. Gauffreau’s novel is centered on the twelve fictional residents who live at Sheldon Poor Farm in its final days, and Hazel and Paul, the married couple who manage the house, residents, and farm till it closes.
Readers are introduced to Claire in the first sentence. She is not an official resident of the poor farm, but she’s destitute. My favorite part of the book were the chapters that covered her backstory. I did wish there was more about her, but I will let readers discover how the story unfolds.
The novel moves back and forth in time, as we learn more about Hazel’s life. Historical events and people are woven into the story—both world wars, assassinations, and new technology, such as television. The real-life blues musician Lightnin’ Hopkins has a significant role in the book. I smiled when he appeared because I know Gauffreau’s fondness for the blues. I also appreciated the scrupulous research that went into the book. Events, products, and way of life are woven into the fabric of the story without being clunky.
Elizabeth Gauffreau is an excellent storyteller, and I came away from the book believing I knew these people. I did not grow up in a rural area, and the way they lived was as foreign to me as if they lived in another country. I lived in suburban areas in houses full of books, where education and the arts were valued. None of this is true for any of the characters, who have few choices and few opportunities. Both Hazel and Claire were young when they married, and neither could talk to their husbands about their feelings. Their husbands were also stuck, I suppose, in their roles as breadwinners.
In my mind, after the close of the book, Hazel and Paul find a new sense of peace in their lives together after the poor farm closes. I hope Claire finds a sense of fulfillment, too.
Gauffreau writes in her afterward that although it was unintended, “these characters have something to teach us about social justice and the worth of the individual.” I believe they do.
Find Liz at: https://lizgauffreau.com/ and on Substack: https://substack.com/@lizgauffreau
The Weight of Snow and Regret is available in hardback, paperback, and e-book.
This book is cat approved!
I’ve had a few people tell me that they can’t read the e-book version of my new collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time. I have had this issue with other people’s books, too. It’s not just my book–really! Many books do not work with older Kindles (like the one I have). Here is the solution–download the app!
If you scroll down on the Amazon page to my book:
you will see this message: “This title is only available on select devices and the latest version of the Kindle app. Please refer to the supported device list before purchase. Available on these devices “
You can download the Kindle app for free on your device, then my book opens–as do other books! If you’ve already purchased my e-book, it should be there in the app. I just double checked this on my laptop. It’s very easy. Soooooo, I do hope this works for anyone who is having an issue reading my book or other e-books. (I know the hardback version is expensive compared to the e-book, but it is beautiful, if you want to put it on your gift list. 😊)
Poet, writer, and artist Luanne Castle has written a beautiful review of my new poetry collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time. Thank you so much, Luanne!
Surrealists
Here we are, drifting
between cloud-dance
and leaf-fire.
Have you noticed the ladybugs
suddenly everywhere,
spotted soothsayers
appearing like a memory
then vanishing, as
after is born away
by now’s embrace,
eternity, existing only
in imagination,
despite endless reflections,
or is that truth?
And color, the gift
of stars and air, light that
moves more quickly than anything,
invisible, visible, lightning zigzags,
and whispered silvered moon-streams–
the attraction, the random
coupling of molecules
that hold us prisoners
and curators of blue–
in dreams,
I search for direction,
discovering magnetic north
Is fiction,
there is only home
and you.
Hello again!
I don’t think I can write Surrealist poems. I like to edit. But I had some help from the Oracle and my dreams, which adds some layers from my subconscious.
The weather has been crazy—again. Windy and cold one day, and beautiful the next. Sometimes both things in one day. Last night we had a thunderstorm with lots of booming thunder that woke me up (since I go to bed at super-early o’clock).
On Friday, we went to the Members’ Preview of Dreamworld: Surrealism at 100. It was a fascinating exhibit that I’d like to go through again. I signed up for a lecture on Surrealism by one of the curators that took place on Saturday afternoon. It was a hybrid in-person and virtual (free). We watched the lecture at home, and it gave me some more understanding of the movement. I’m not certain I knew before the exhibition that there was a Manifesto of Surrealism by André Breton, published in 1924. This is the only US venue for this exhibition, but each venue has a different presentation. The Philadelphia Art Museum has a large Surrealist collection, but some of the items are too fragile to be displayed all the time.
On Sunday, I read at Paul Short’s Book Bag Open Mic (also virtual). It was such a wonderful group, and Paul is an extremely supportive host. He gave each reader thoughtful comments. I didn’t realize it was the first open mic for The Book Bag. Paul was very organized, and everything ran smoothly.
We ate takeout Pakistani food afterward from a small, local restaurant. The food is very good. The vegetable samosas are SO good. My husband said while he was waiting for our order, the owner (?) offered him a drink and then a salad!
In case you hadn’t heard, we did have good news on Wednesday because the election results showed a blue sweep across the country from governors to schoolboards. People went out in an off-year election to vote for Democrats and against all things Tr**mp! People are still going to be hungry, unemployed, and sick, but at least there is hope. This is what happens when we unite and fight!
Now some Democrats have given in. I need to read more, but it seems to me that you never give in to bullies. The rapist-in-chief played, or maybe it should be “played” golf and hosted an extravagant seafood buffet while people are hungry and unemployed. His regime went to court to STOP giving food assistance to needy people. He met with Hungary’s dictator, and he declared to the GOP that they would “never lose the midterms and we will never lose a general election.” This is NOT how a democracy works. This is a dictatorship.
Keep on resisting; keep on sharing and keep finding joy if and where you can.
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Course Correction
Days are growing shorter,
we hear only the wind-songs of
of remembrance and regret,
not of recommitment and renewal.
There is light—
there is always light–
but sometimes we forget
it’s there
behind the clouds,
across a sea,
as if we are
stranded alone on
the dark side of the moon
without sextant, compass, or
sails.
But today—
today, the sky is sparkling blue,
the leaves are gilded and glowing,
even as they drift and drop
that feathered thing
may fall, too,
but we must remember
when it’s part of a wing,
it can soar to unimaginable heights
sweeping us from black holes
to stellar radiance.
Light is the fastest thing in the universe.
The fight is far from over, but today the news is good!
Democrats won all over the country, in everything from governors’ races in New Jersey and Virginia to schoolboard elections! It’s good to celebrate, though I’m sure the felon—egged on by his evil handlers—will retaliate. Meanwhile people are still going hungry because of Republicans; they are still unable to afford healthcare, and many are out of work. The Republicans could fix it; they choose not to. Today though, there is some light.
I took the photo this morning.
In Blood, In Living, We Go On
“in blood / Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more, / Returning were as tedious as go o’er”
–William Shakespeare, Macbeth
“We pay down
death
by living”
— Giuseppe Ungaretti, “I am a Creature,”
translated from Italian by Geoffrey Brock
Overnight, the trees have become magicians,
their arms dangle spices–
cinnamon, nutmeg, saffron–
falling, scenting the air
with yearning and regret.
We’ve seen blood moons
and blood suns, now
the blue belly of the sky
rests on cool cloud covers,
the squirrels are scurrying
after scattered nuts, burying
them for the future;
beavers and bears soon
will take shelter,
but we take scarce notice,
as we destroy habitats, buildings,
the planet,
sucking the good,
as a vampire sucks blood, turning
it to poison,
(the night creatures party)
look at your seducer,
do you not see the fangs,
the lifeless eyes, the predator?
Do you envy the birds,
their song, their flight?
Clear the cobwebs,
strike the shadows with light,
be, exist,
laugh and love,
because evil hates joy.
Hello again! There is so much going on, it’s difficult to get it into one MMM now!
Election Day is Tuesday. If you’re a US citizen, please vote. There are many important races going on throughout the country. In New Jersey, as well as local government officials, we are electing a new governor. I’m afraid the “price of eggs” people will vote for the horrible Tr**mper candidate simply because they want change. I fear for the state if we get a Republican governor, especially a MAGA guy. He is an awful man. New Jersey (for now) has early voting, so we voted last Monday. I’m worried.
Under the current regime, health care has become unaffordable for many, and as of Nov. 1, food assistance through the SNAP program has been halted. There is money available, money that is legally available, and which the courts have said should be released. We’ll see what happens. The “let them eat cake” regime is too busy tearing down the East Wing, putting marble in bathrooms, and hosting disgusting Gatsby parties for billionaires. Many farmers are suffering because of tariffs and the lack of farm laborers. I assume other businesses that rely on immigrant laborers are also affected. Speaker Johnson has refused to convene Congress or swear in Rep-Elect Adelita Grijalva. Whatever is in the Epstein files must really be explosive. The ICE raids have stepped-up, several people in the regime are now living on military bases, government services, including air-traffic controllers are understaffed, and this regime is engaging in war without Congressional approval—murdering people on ships off the coast of Venezuela and in the Pacific. Oh yeah, and then there’s the Nazi stuff so many of them like. Was there are official disaster relief sent to Jamaica? What happens when a disaster strikes within the US? Today’s letter from Heather Cox Richardson.
It’s really overwhelming, and I don’t know what will happen. The Red States—many of the people who voted for this horror—are mostly likely going to be the most affected
On Tuesday, the virtual session of one of the book clubs I belong to discussed The Buffalo Hunter Hunter by Stephen Graham Jones. As I suspected, most of the other people did not like the book, but I did. One person really hated it. It’s literary fiction. I found it difficult to get into, but then I got caught up in the story. It’s a unique take on vampires through the lens of colonialism. It’s framed at the beginning and end by a contemporary section, but most of the story (or story within the story) is set in Montana in the 19th and early 20th centuries, as revealed by the journal of a Lutheran pastor. The pastor has set down the “confession” of Good Stab, a Blackfeet warrior who is now a vampire. This happened after he lusted for guns and destroyed beavers—his spirit animal. Both the pastor and Good Stab are unreliable narrators.
Friday was Halloween. It was a very windy and cool evening. My husband bundled up and sat outside for a while to hand out candy to trick-o-treaters. We didn’t want to be opening and closing the door with our kitties around. I had made a pot of lentil soup, bread, and a pumpkin-spice cake with coffee-cream cheese frosting for dessert. [I acknowledge that we are fortunate to have plenty of food, including autumn produce from our farm share. I believe many farm markets take EBT cards, so those that are still open, will also be affected by the loss of SNAP funds.] We usually watch a horror movie on Halloween, but we decide to continue re-watching Stranger Things—and coincidentally, the episode we were on, turned out to be a Halloween episode!
We finished the wonderful Slow Horses earlier in the week, and we’re already looking forward to the next season. We have one episode left of The Diplomat, which we will probably watch tonight.
On Sunday, we saw a production of Macbeth by the Lantern Theater Company in Philadelphia. I said to my husband that it a cold, grey day might be more fitting, but I was glad that it was so beautiful instead. We walked around for about 40 minutes before the matinee performance. The venue is an intimate space, and it had been reconfigured so that the seats were set up on either side of the performance space—the floor made to look like stone. There are no bad seats, but we were in the first row on the end, where several times Macbeth yelled as he was exiting. It may not have been the best production of Macbeth, but it was certainly entertaining. I thought the light and sound effects were very good, and I thought Banquo’s ghost’s make-up was excellent. Several actors, including the actor who played Banquo, played multiple roles. It bothered me that Macbeth unzipped his boots to take them off in one early scene, and since we were so close, it was obvious.
I had frozen some pizza I made a few weeks ago, so we had that for dinner.
Yesterday, if you missed it, there was a wonderful review of my new poetry collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time, on Paul Writes Poem’s Book Bag. Tomorrow, I’m going to participate in the virtual launch of the latest edition of The Storms. There is a podcast version, too.
Remember the helpers and be one if you can.
I’m so thrilled and honored to have Paul Writes Poems review and feature my new poetry collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time. (And a play list!) Paul is a wonderful poet, and he is a kind and generous supporter of poets. As well as writing reviews on his blog and interacting on social media, he runs a monthly virtual writing group, and he will be taking submissions in November for an anthology. Details in the post. Thank you again, Paul!
Someone, Some Place, Some Time
The sky smiles,
I am dirt, decay–and dazzle,
I am secret rhythms, and the heart
of eternity,
men linger, the taste of lies,
luscious on their tongues,
foolish fish, pretending to be ferocious,
souls salted and brined,
mistake their sparkle for stars,
they ignore the dance of darting birds,
the feather-flight of time drifting,
now slow, now fast,
but somewhere, there is you,
you who wakes the stars,
catches their ancient light,
holds it for us,
till we are ready.
My poem inspired by the Oracle. She gave me several phrases, including the opening and “you who wakes the stars.” I can’t stop thinking about that one. It sounds like a myth that I want to be true.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 