One of the greatest gifts my parents gave me was the love of reading. They both led by example, filling our home with books, magazines and newspapers. We made frequent visits to the library and often received books as gifts. I was an eclectic reader but rarely if ever read poetry.

Becoming a poet wasn’t on my to-do list but I recently became a published poet. My work is part of an anthology recently published by Orchard Park Press. I became part of a poetry writing group more than two years ago. I had taken some writing classes and was seeking to strengthen my abilities when I was asked to join a writing group. I was equally terrified and intimidated by the thought of writing poetry. Fortunately my writing partners were patient and encouraging and never gave up on me. It took months to write my first poem and many of my initial efforts were like diary entries. Gradually by studying poets and discussing their work and the work of my writing partners, I began to assimilate knowledge of what was expected of me. One of the most difficult elements of poetry is brevity. Having come from a journalistic background, writing radio news and then editorial commentary I was used to researching and assembling facts to support my opinions. Short sentences, abrupt line endings and the richness of the vocabulary stalled me for a time. I think the element that kept me going was the discovery of an entire genre of writing that I had been unaware of before. I am in awe of original, thought provoking phrases that often stop me in my track, those lines that resonate and stay in your mind. My son, Ben recently wrote a poem called “Redolent” that included this line…

”It’s then that I stop thinking about you, just for a moment, and

my heartbeat stops rhyming your name.”

I feel proud to have produced the young man who could create such beauty.

I found myself drawn to the often painful writing of Anne Sexton.

The Black Art

A woman who writes feels too much,

those trances and portents!

As if cycles and children and islands

weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips

and vegetables were never enough.

She thinks she can warn the stars.

A writer is essentially a spy.

Dear love, I am that girl.

Slowly and painfully I kept at the writing and gradually began to gain some measure of confidence that perhaps I could produce a poem that I was comfortable reading aloud. Reading my poetry aloud to the group is perhaps one of the most horrific, fear inducing acts I’ve ever had to perform. Every time I read I feel stripped naked before judgmental strangers. There’s always that awkward beat of silence when you finish that convinces you that your poem really does suck as badly as you thought it did. Then supportive comments and criticism roll in and you breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over for now.

April is national poetry month and if you’ve never read a poem or you haven’t read poetry since you were in school, seek it out. My little anthology “Fruit of the Banyan Tree” which includes the poetry of my fellow Ruminators Jane Addison, ShellieEnteen, Terresa Haskew, Tammy Houtz,Steve Lipe,Sandra Merrill, Terri McCord, Arthur McMaster and Dr. Patrick Mullen is available for sale at The Open Book or online at http://www.orchardparkpress.com/index.html