I’m not much the Easter celebrator, but I do appreciate this day. The sun shines across my desk, starburst daffodils shimmy in the wind out in the garden – I don’t have the heart to cut them to bring indoors – and I’m enjoying the last cup of morning coffee in my bright yellow mug. These things are celebration enough before the start of another wild work week. These things offer me joy.
On the occasion I’ve received a monetary prize in exchange for poetry, I’ve rolled it into fancy kitchenware; Le Creuset in Caribbean Blue, namely. It began with a big, blue sound pot that I named Angus after the wild fiddler of Scottish band, Shooglenifty, with whom Bruce and I kitchen partied at the campground after concert hours for the days of StanFest in Canso, Nova Scotia. Good time, that. Bruce had a few good eye rolls at me, at the pot, and its name before even he gave into calling it Angus.
That said, I’m wildly happy and grateful to learn that not 1, but a batch of 10 poems, has been accepted by Edutainment Night Publishing for publication in the fall. Just enough time to ponder what to add next to the turquoise kitchen.
Cheers to the writing that sustains!
Note author Raquel Vasquez Gilliland’s YA lit novel on the counter, How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe. A must-read, along with all of her books, all of her poetry! This is about where I’d add Stevie Nick’s song, “Sorcerer” to the post. If I knew how to do that.
It’s December 1 and both neighborhood cul-de-sac and ocean just beyond the edge are dark. A few lights are beginning to illuminate windows here and there, but this most immediate, surrounding world is largely muffled and still this morning.
A friend has mailed me coffee from afar and I’ve saved its opening and taste for this long weekend. Today, I brewed it in the French press. Pulled from the trunk a hand-pottered mug purchased in Homer while on writing residency at Storyknife a few summers ago. It is both the dark and light, dirt earthy tones and golden light creeping in around the edges. I’ve added just a bit of the good Irish stuff to it to enjoy the morning, put a cap on a fine, holiday weekend, and bust through the poetry that needs writing. My to-write list is longer than my arm.
But it is December 1 and there’s much to look forward to. My college daughter and her traveling cat will soon be home in a couple of weeks and Solstice to be celebrated soon after. I thank the editors of The Bluebird Word for including my poem “Tilt” in today’s winter issue publication. It is timely and I’m enjoying all of the poems gathered here in this space, this welcome to winter and December’s return.
Gosh, peeps, we’re knee-deep into October and on the occasion the skies clear, it shines around here, as bright as Rihanna’s song, “Diamonds.” Case in point, the sun’s slow descent to the horizon this very evening. See photos below, both taken from my writing desk.
I spent the morning submitting poetry to various publications and their calls for this or that. I also wrote up an application for a $500 writing grant possibility. I’m not sure what my chances are of being awarded such a gift, but I certainly have some ideas on how to use it this winter. First, I’d like to order a Little Free Library for my front yard to assemble and install, only, I’d name mine the Little Free Poetry Library. I’d go wild in its kit design and colors, maybe even install a tiny disco ball from the interior ceiling. First and foremost, I’d love to stock it well with the work and words of northern poets before moving onto the equally beautiful work and words of poets from Outside. Such a Little Free Poetry Library would certainly require its own Instagram page, just to keep everyone abreast of stock. My neighborhood can be tricky to find without a proper street sign.
The poet George Franklin served as guest editor for the Volume 9.1 Fall Edition of Sheila-Na-Gig. His curating is exemplary and I’ve enjoyed tiptoeing my way through the various submissions this season, akin to the speed of fall coming on. If you get a chance to read, please do so. Beautiful writing all around. And I’m both humbled and grateful to have a couple of poems included: “Cosmic Harvesting” and “This Is Not a Love Poem.” Thank you to George for including these summertime writings. I’m humbled and grateful when my work lands among the poets and pages of Sheila-Na-Gig. In fact, I’m happy to be part of this publishing family of poets with my own collection, Curating the House of Nostalgia (2020).
An additional note of interest as it relates to Sheila-Na-Gig, I offer a huge shout-out to Sheila-Na-Gig publisher Hayley Mitchell Haugen’s generosity. Books published by this press in 2022 and 2023 will be on display in New York City at the Poets House 28th annual Poetry Showcase. Curating the House of Nostalgia will be among them. A copy of each book will be on display facing frontwards for attendees to browse. Thank you, Hayley, for your above and beyond support of SNG poets! I’ve never been to New York City, but I’d love to be there in this moment to visit Poets House and browse all the offerings there.
The sun bright in my eyes, I set writing aside when the afternoon beckoned me out to the yard. There I cut back my raspberry patch, pruned the Japanese Maple, and cleared the porch of summer plants and pots. I hauled four leaf bags of clippings out to the overflow and feel pretty good about this first step in putting the yard to bed for winter. And of course, the drive yielded all kinds of sights: Humpback whales, migrating swans, snow creeping closer on the mountains.
October delights. Enjoy every moment.
Sun taking a slow dip this afternoon.
The later view from the writing desk here at home.
It’s summertime and the writing is all the sweeter. In fact, new poems, reading, and and all the writing endeavors are pushing up fireweed.
When I last blogged, it was February. Really? Really. How can that be? I had just submitted then an application for a Jenni House Residency. I hit send on Valentine’s Day evening, about a minute before deadline. I had my nose in bell hooks’ book, All About Love, and I hit send. It was dark, snowy, and even though there were still a few months left in the dumpster fire of a school year (and it was a doozy), I clearly was dreaming of warmer times ahead.
Fast forward to July, and I’m waking up in a sublet apartment in an old Cold War DEW-line station, rattling around in a kitchen that’s not mine to boil water in a pot (no kettle to be found) for Yukon blend coffee. When finished, I’ll drive into Whitehorse to Shipyards Park and open up the Chambers House for the day, first the door, then windows, and the shutters. I’ll switch on the twinkle lights, add mint and orange essential oils to the stink pot, and write. Yes, this is the Jenni House Residency that I applied for in February and was granted, and I am so grateful and giddy to be here for the month of July.
De de Eq
Anyway, cheers to summer, to time and space carved out just for chasing all our our wildest writing dreams. I’ll catch you on the August side!
Giving Poems Time to Breathe: 39 on the wall, 25 ready to mingle.
Yes, Valentine’s Day is nearly a week past, but I’m just tomorrow sending cards and greetings to friends near and far, mostly to put a dent in the Love postage stamps recently purchased through USPS. All those kitten and puppies and doves accessoried with tiny hearts and red accents need to fly, even if late in their arrival. I’m a sucker for such seasonal postage, even if my efforts are less than timely.
I’m happy this morning to come across the recent publication of The Wild Word’s issue, Love. Their fine editors have included three of my poems in this issue and I’m over the moon at this odd little gathering of three: poetry as a lover, the wonder of scallops, and a hodge podge of Valentine ephemera haiku. The issue promises of all kinds of good reading. The editors are good humans to work with in this world of words and publishing.
Happy New Year, peeps! It’s still just the 6th of January, so I think I can employ this greeting for a bit more time, give it s-t-r-e-t-c-h for as l-o-n-g as I can, maybe even until the vernal equinox.
As I usually do at the start of the year, I look back on the data of a calendar year of writing. 16 poems in 12 paper copy journals or anthologies. Humbled that one of my poems landed in an anthology not too many pages away from poems by the writer Sheila Bender and Joseph Powell, one of my creative writing professors at Central Washington University. In 1993, he published his collection of poems, Winter Insomnia. I attended that launch and in the copy of the book I purchased after, his inscription encouraged me to “keep up the fine writing and send me a copy of your first book.” I made true on that in 2017 when I mailed him a copy of Something Yet to Be Named. I still have the letter he wrote in return.
Additionally, I published 18 poems in online journals. I am so very grateful for all editors who take a chance on writing and move it from a page in a writer’s hand to a greater reading world.
And because I’m an absolute believer in seeing the whole picture, 2023 landed me 23 rejections and 15 still-waiting-for-confirmations, or in the words of Submittable, “Received” or “In Progress.” And that’s all bundled up in the beauty of writing as well.
Finally, the ravens here are my desk muses. Raven Ladies are from the wildly creative Yukon artist, Donald Watt. You can read more about Donald and his art at Yukon Artists at Work.
Cheers to a the new year ahead. May it be truly happy, full of possibilities both hoped for and surprising. Keep on writing!
The Bluebird Word is an online literary journal featuring poetry and flash. Thank you to writer and editor MK Keffer for including my poem, “If Not Glitter, If Not Gold” as part of the Winter Holiday Reflection issue. Accompanying photo is from laura adai on Unsplash. Much holiday bauble eye candy to be found at the Unsplash link.
Horseshoe Literary Magazine is based in Western Newfoundland. Given past summers of driving Anchorage to St. John’s and back, later flying across Canada to backpack the South Coast, and 10 years ago driving cross-country again to visit L’Anse Aux Meadows, of course I was eager to submit some poetry to this publication. As it turns out, the magazine’s editors accepted two poems for publication, “Flame Flower” and “Border Closure,” and of course I was over the moon. Cheers to Newfoundland, their journals, and my adventuring memories of that sweet, other island in the other ocean.
Such a joy last weekend to attend one of a few readings organized by Editor Cassandra Arnold to celebrate her release of Alchemy and Miracles (Gilbert & Hall Press, 2023). Everyone read so beautifully! This collection is filled with nature poems written by 83 poets from all over the world, including three writers from right here in Southeast Alaska. Yes, I’m over the moon to have work in this compilation with fellow Blue Canoe writers Mandy Ramsey from Haines and Bonnie Demerjian from Wrangell. If you get the chance, give Cassandra Arnold a follow on Instagram (@cassandra_art_and_stories) where you’ll surely be inspired about all things poetry. And yes, she designed this lovely cover, too! Alchemy and Miracles may be purchased through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Happy Autumn, all! In true, Southeast Alaskan form, termination dust on the high peaks yesterday morning.
It’s June and the rhododendrons are in full bloom. From my window, shades of scarlet, blush, magenta, neon pink. These colors remind me of the various lipsticks my Ballard grandmother would wear and I explored this in a poem I’ve been working on all morning. There’s no shame in too much coffee and pajamas at noon, especially when the rain pours and the drive to write is hot. But I’m also leaving soon to roadtrip through Yukon, British Columbia, and Washington. So a blog entry before my departure.
Also grateful to have “Hometown” included in Issue 6: Midnight of the Australian journal, Authora Australis, another well-curated gathering of work that can be found across many issues here.
Also sitting in my email account are notices of an upcoming publication acceptance from Tokyo Poetry Journal and quite possibly a moon poem in the Waco Word Fest Anthology. The moon poem has at least made second round.
With that, I’ll catch you on the flip side of July. Looking ahead with great anticipation to mountains, markets, familiar faces and new, and reading a bunch of Canadian and PNW poetry as I go. Did I mention chasing coffee houses?
Kersten Christianson, Poet 