The End of National Poetry Month

To celebrate the end of National Poetry Month, I am posting poems by others that I have enjoyed. Two are from classic poets that you may recognize. Oddly, the poetry follows the theme of life or death. The poem, Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, was a poem I actually had to memorize for sophomore English in high school. Enjoy!


If I’ve been around the block so many times,

how come I keep getting lost?

Then I stopped right where I was

And realized in that moment

That’s where I was supposed to be….

-Helen Cernigliaro


Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand there at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.

-Mary Elizabeth Frye via


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost from The Poetry of Robert Frost via


The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud    That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd,    A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine    And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line    Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A Poet could not but be gay,    In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie    In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye    Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

-William Wordsworth via







Ode to School Shopping

Today’s poem focuses on the humor aspect. This is an “old” poem but also a tribute to other parents and that special time of year 🙂

 The time is here again

 Two weeks before the bell

 Every parent’s worst nightmare

 School shopping hell

 There’s the supply list

 Scattered throughout every discount store

 Who needs four glue sticks? Three packs of crayons

 And trying to find manilla paper is always a chore

 The best time to go is morning or almost closing time

 It’s easier to shop

 And there’s often a shorter wait line

 Unless the “no tax” holiday is your thing

 That happens every August or July

 The people will be plenty, the parking will be maddening

 Every parent will want to cry

 So off you go, moms and dads

 The early mornings are about to begin

 Keep those initial lists handy

 The kids will probably make you go again!

The Surprise

April is National Poetry month. As a poet, I am sharing some of my works and favorites of others on the blog. This poem is an example of the bespoke poetry that I’ve written since childhood. Enjoy 🙂

 She sped past him at the turnstile

As she tried to catch the Metro train

Her black briefcase in one hand

And a bright pink umbrella unraveled, from the morning’s rain

He could smell her Lancome perfume

And tried to catch up

But people were wall to wall

On their phones, while balancing Starbucks

He got flustered and wanted to scream

His heart beating faster

He took the stairs two at a time

There is something he wanted to ask her

On the platform, she stared impatiently at her gold watch

Wondering where he could be

And that’s when he walked up behind her

Smiling sheepishly

The lights started to flicker

The Metro train was near

He wished he had more time

Damn, an early train was his biggest fear

A concerned look crossed her face

“Are you okay?”

He just took her hand in his, replying “There’s something I’ve got to say.”

“Right here, on the orange line I asked you out on our first date

We had a burger at BGR

That was 2008

So many things have happened since then

We’ve finished school, and traveled some

He got down on one knee

As her mouth opened in surprise

He finally got to ask her “Will you be my forever one?”







The Special Reasons I Write

I was asked a few months back why I wanted to start a blog. At first, the question was annoying to me. Well, for starters everyone has one for sales, their stories, or pictures. It’s what has made social media so remarkably popular. We all crave connection. We want to learn from, be informed, and be entertained. So, why should I bother starting a blog when there is already millions upon millions of them out there? No one knows my work and if I don’t show it off (the good, the bad, and the terrible) it’s a disservice to myself and anyone who very well may read it.  I wanted an outlet. At seven, I learned to write short stories. At nine, I wrote poetry to release my feelings after a really lousy day on the playground (sand is not good for the eyes). The pen and paper could not yell at me. I felt constricted and frustrated until the words were out. As I grew up, the poetry advanced to reflective thoughts and then humor. Who knows what time it was or how much time had passed. I just wanted to use my imagination. I got photo books and put my poetry in them after re-writing a few lines and making it neat to showcase. (I still have two full books in my closet, though they haven’t been read since I was little.) The other day,  standing in my kitchen, I was pondering the “Why do I write?” question again. I felt after so many years that the Universe decided to help me fully process the answer. I write for people who don’t know how to say the words they want to say themselves. I write for myself words I want to say but for whatever reason, cannot say out loud. In my family, you don’t always hear I love you. Someone’s actions are the words. A cute Hallmark card-check. A lunch out-check. A few dollars to spend-check. I write to help remind myself that I matter. My work is written for those people who also need to know from their friends or loved ones that they matter. Maybe my personal flaw is that I can do feelings. Not everyone is or wants to be overly sentimental. For as long as I can remember, I’ve read books, watched the Hallmark movies, and written the poetry because it’s what I need. My humorous poetry has been a tribute to those in my life and their situations. It’s my way of sharing my feelings simply. I write my blog to relate to others and share what matters.