Listen to me on Tea, Toast, and Trivia!

I don’t see a reblog button, so I’m sharing Rebecca Budd’s interview with me this way. I had such a delightful time talking with her

and reading my poetry. You can listen to the “Season 4 Episode 45: Merril D Smith on A Poet’s Voice” here. Thank you so much, Rebecca!

A great gift! Cover by Jay Smith.

September Rain

Heron at dawn. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield.

September Rain

Early morning is heron-still,
the grey wing-brushed sky waits
for feathered clouds to part,

or sprinkle diamond drops
around sunflowers’ throats,
who smile and tilt their heads,

offer tiny mirrors to bees,
to see a world worked in threads reflected blue,
invisible to us.

A quadrille for dVerse. We’re getting much-needed rain today.

Good Poetry News!

I have good poetry news to share!

Jen Feroze wrote a lovely review of my poetry collection, River Ghosts in the East Ridge Review. Many thanks to her for her kind words. Also, thank you to editor Andrew Williams who selected my book for the review.

My poem, “Late September,” was just published in the lovely journal Humana Obscura. Thank you very much to editor Bri Bruce for selecting it for publication in the Fall/Winter Issue. It’s available in print or free digital versions. My poem is on p.44.

Finally, though I did not make the shortlist, my poem was longlisted for the Dai Fry Award for Mystical Poetry. This was a very special competition in memory of Swansea poet Dai Fry. Both shortlisted and longlisted poems will be included in a forthcoming anthology. I also have a poem coming out in Black Bough’s special summer anthology. Black Bough’s Top Tweet Tuesday will return next Tuesday, September 6.

Review: Ingrid Wilson, 40 Poems At 40

Ingrid Wilson, 40 Poems At 40

Cat approved!

I follow Ingrid Wilson’s Experiments in Fiction, and I looked forward to reading her book of poetry, 40 Poems at 40. I was not disappointed. Her “voyage of self-discovery,” is personal, but there is a universal appeal. Many readers will be able to relate to her first poem in the collection, “Unexpected Things” (A Villanelle), and the hope it conveys.

“Life is full of unexpected things:
the clouds part to reveal a golden sky
as I breathe in the hope each new day brings.”

In “One Poem at A Time,” Wilson explains,

“this is not a polemical poem.

I’ve changed my life, one poem at a time”

She goes on to write how poetry has healed her, “restoring inner light and harmony.” Her evocative poetry is written in several forms—I particularly liked the Cadralor. In her poems, Wilson travels through time and space—and takes readers with her to and from England, to the sea, to Venice, and elsewhere, sharing moments of love, joy, understanding, and grief.

Wilson has launched her own publishing business, Experiments in Fiction. Recently she published the highly rated Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women, an anthology edited by Gabriela Marie Milton.

@TopTweetTuesday is doing a lovely thing today–sharing poetry book reviews. If you’re on Twitter, check it out.

Hearts and Moons

Monday Morning Musings:

Morning Moon, Snow Moon

We wrap our hearts in fleecy blankets,
Valentine red, while the cold Snow Moon
sings her song, in silver notes falling,
falling, falling—

we don’t feel the movement
only the argent pull—magnetic attraction,
the flow of tides and blood
creating life, rising, and falling, falling

in revolutions around the sun,
in tilted rotations, come
the ebb and flow of existence
from star explosion, falling, falling, falling

and gravity caught and kept,
swept aside, buried to thrive,
the fruits of our earth consumed and reborn,
as falling, falling, falling

species die, yet birds survive.
Now the crows are calling
from trees deep-rooted,
but falling, falling, falling

leaves and seeds fly
as squirrels scamper and scold,
waving their tails, yet never
falling, falling, falling

only climbing higher to see
the deep ancient course
of water as it finds its way
the sea, rising, and falling, falling,

now rain and snow on
withered gardens that grow sun-bright–
and bee breath threaded gold
with pollen, falling, falling, falling

on flowers as they dance–
but even our simple eyes
can see the ghosts around us
falling, falling, falling

all around–
their memories
held in mind and heart, released
to join the stars, rising, falling, rising.


February was birthday month for us—children earlier in the month, and my husband and his mother’s this past week. We splurged and did a virtual Valentine wine and cheese tasting with wine and cheese we picked up at Tria in Philadelphia. It was so much fun—all French wine and cheese, except for one Vermont cheese. We saved the crémant to have with Indian food on my husband’s birthday.

This week we finished watching Inventing Anna (Netflix)—which I mentioned last week, and which definitely held our interest—and watched the first two episodes of the new season of Mrs. Maisel (Amazon Prime).

We wait to see if there will be war abroad and if our democracy will be toppled by right-wing authoritarians. But still, the moon shines, the days are getting longer, birds are beginning to sing, and spring is coming.



John William Waterhouse, The Sorceress

Know if lives in nature’s song—
thick on spring’s rustle

between every breath that comes
verdant and sublime, there was
an almost,
never rooted,
a moon-rose, eggshell fragile—

but ask, ask, ask, she says–
for dreams,
a dance on a long bee-path,
soft blooms of dusk,
a shadow-fiddle
like a lullaby as night’s blanket rests.

Watch, as frost-lichens bloom,
and then color, stone to berry-warm

reflections in ancient rivers–
a murmur, a laugh,
the embrace of sky,

rippling secrets, there and gone.

The Oracle really wanted me to ask today. Every set I looked at gave me that word. Then these lines came, and the poem fell into place.