• Curiosity & Adventure Spiral

    The Crossing of Candle Eyes

    A poem inspired by Spring, gardens, and the gift of renewal. I found many of these phrases in my notebook from an old writing exercise and decided to work them into a fairy tale this morning. Creating this garden-world and its characters was fun. I’d love to see this illustrated one day!


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  • Solitude & Self-Awareness Spiral

    Five Ways of Looking at Summer

    Today I dream of summer. The sun on my face. The relaxed rhythm of the day. When I was a young teen I remember drifting on the Magnetewan River in a canoe reading for hours. I wrote this poem (inspired by Wallace Stevens) to capture the carefree feeling and the peaceful knowing of having nowhere to be but in a canoe with a great book on a gorgeous summer’s day.

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  • Community & Connection Spiral

    Number Talks

    A Poem Inspired by Learning Together

    We tell a story about a mother who is seventy-four
    and a daughter who is forty-nine,
    adding up time and
    difference
    along the line between them.

    We share an open array of numbers,
    imagining parts and wholes,
    our strategies exposed by quantities
    of numbers decomposing and
    composing
    constant relationships in our minds
    –before even holding a pencil.

    Hand over heart we tap
    until we see a place
    in a string of familiar anchors
    and friendly landmarks.

    We can count back to see the value, partial
    products of flexibility now.

    Voices of facts and concepts
    and ways to solve
    burst with numerate enthusiasm
    and joy, seeing how the teacher
    draws our thoughts
    together on a whiteboard.
    We gasp at its simple magnitude.

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  • Honesty & Courage Spiral

    Granite Expires in Parry Sound 33 Fire

    My parents live close to where the Parry Sound 33 Fire started this summer.

    Still
        moss clings to my
        spaces toured by ants and even
        spiders.

    Motionless days pass
        solid and sound in all seasons,
        even this one, until my senses blistered.

    Organized signals for help
        unseen as my sedentary
        service in subterranean
        bass tones even
        eluded that fir and birch and spruce and pine
        who once stood beside me night and day.

    Knowing boots rested on my back, even as I slept
        as choked branches lay across my face, as I ate
        but rain
        soaked dreams drank my lineage
        hardening the horizon–

    Even until smouldering spells
       struck nine and I waited to exhale.


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  • Honesty & Courage Spiral

    A Poem About Teacher Resiliency

    There is freedom in a metaphor. I love its openness to possibility.

    When creativity flows well writing is as easy as taking the lid off the jar, grasping streams of inspiration as they swirl above, and then sprinkling words onto the page. Sometimes it can feel like confidently singing a song you’ve known for a long time. Often when I write poetry the story appears all at once and catches me by surprise.

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