Women's History Month

In honor of Women's History Month, I am sharing a poem by Anne Bradstreet, America's first female poet.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me ye women if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay;

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever,

That when we live no more we may live ever.

Poetry Conference


I attended the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets' spring conference for the first time. An organization begun in the 1950's by a very dedicated group of poets.

We honored a member with a lifetime membership (she'd been a member for 41 years!) -- Fran, a scrappy, floss-haired dame who kept shouting "Keep it moving" during Open Mic.

We heard from special guest B.J. Best (great name!) who seriously looked like a nerdy kid but in actual fact is a very talented poet AND a Professor of English at my alma mater (go figure).

His most recent book of poetry is But Our Princess is in Another Castle.


Check out his cool book trailer: 

Max Garland  Wisconsin Poet Laureate

Max Garland

Wisconsin Poet Laureate


And the new Poet Laureate of Wisconsin debuted, Max Garland, a former mail carrier.

You can read more about him and experience some of his poems 

All reaffirming to me that I need to get out there more... Poetry lives!

New Poet Discovery

I have discovered a new poet who has written a book of "character" poems. They are weird and wonderful. Read for yourself:


A mirthy owl stands past breathing.
It is a plate-glass rescue
Of the ten thousand things.
Martha knew it once, came
To her own conclusions.
Then her spirit cried for respite
And release. There was no
Other season for the blatant cross-
Road of the yellow trees.
There was no other, Martha
Knew as she flew to the giant
Warmth in the desert of the real.
-- Noelle Kocot