Every two weeks for the past month or so, I and various members of my family and extended family have gathered to discuss and learn about our shared Ratcliffe history. Today, we were “in” Kansas in the 1850s, 1860s and 1870s, talking about the lives of John and Mary Ratcliffe, who moved to Marshall County, … More Family History
The first warm day of Marchis a good day to be alive,a good day to work outside,bare arms released from the shacklesof sweaters and coats.To work just hard enoughto raise a bit of sweaton your brow and neckso you can feel a slight chillas the breeze nips at your skinand reminds youwhere you still are … More THE FIRST WARM DAY OF MARCH
The new year started with a wonderful evening of poetry– Maryland poet Patti Ross’ (aka “Little Pi”) First Friday series. The featured reader was Eastern Shore poet, Tara Elliott. I am so glad I “zoomed” in for the event this evening. Her poems are fabulous– rich with the essence of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, full of … More A Poetic Start to the New Year
STONE WALLS Thoughts and words pile in my mind,as heavy and mute as fallen stones that form gapsin the walls that line Newtown’s roadsand the yards where children played. I cannot speak for those who lost,but I can grieve.I can grieve for those who liveand must rebuild. In time we will restack the stones,but they … More STONE WALLS
The sun beginning to set,and the evening cool hintingagainst skin, warmed from work,I sit on the porch and clean radishes,fresh from the garden,separate the greens from the bulbs,and slowly rinse away the dirt.
The news was no news—still counting.We rose like we do every day.Fed the cat. Ate breakfast. Drank our coffee.Climbed the stairs and went to work. But today is not like every day.We wait. Still counting. The high winds of the past two dayshave subsided. All is calm outside, as if even the weather waits.
The good folks at Poetry X Hunger have posted the two poems I submitted for the 2020 World Food Day Poetry Contest. Although I didn’t receive any honors this year (I had an Honorable Mention last year), I am honored that they chose to post these poems.
Old men in baseball caps,gnarled hands on their knees.And, women, the weight of the worldin the grocery bags on their laps.
We walked over windswept rocks,contemplated the quiet of the valley below,the beauty of endless mountains. We took a different route back,clambered through dense brush,questioned our decision. We laughed when we reached the car.Debated the meaning of “lost.”
It has been a long while since my last post. I’ve been writing, jotting down words and lines here and there, but cannot seem to bring anything to some sort of conclusion. I go back through notebooks to find old drafts to rework and putter around with the words a bit, but nothing ever seems … More Snippets