2023: the ninth annual memorial open mic for frank kelso wolfe.

emily neblock will be hosting again, this year, complete gem that she is!

any questions in advance can be sent to poetrywithjenniferhetrick at yahoo dot com.

2022: the eighth annual memorial open mic for frank kelso wolfe.

 emily neblock will be hosting, this year.

any questions in advance can be sent to poetrywithjenniferhetrick at yahoo dot com.

 

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as an update, joe glinkosky reached out to share these paintings, below, by frank. enjoy!

 

 

2021: letter-ish words by emily neblock.

 

(Submitted on October 8, 2021; sunflower photo by Emily Neblock)

 

Dear All,

While pondering what to say for this 7th anniversary of Frank Wolfe's passing, it occurred to me that Frank represents very well what I value most in this world: Realness. He was who he was and did not try to be anything else. The world we live in is sorely without such quality, and yet it is that quality that matters the most of all...at least if we want to live in more of a utopia than a dystopia. This world is currently afflicted with the greatest division, depression, ire, uncertainty of future. People need people, people of a quality that used to be more common. People need reassurance and trust, but instead what surrounds us is so often fake or suspicious, untrustworthy, empty of morals, or upsetting without any promise of true communication or resolution. The world is in a bit of a sorry place in many ways. We desperately need Frankness. We need art and honesty; we need cultural commentary from peaceful hearts. We need comedy and levity. We need inspiration and humble-spirited endurance. We need authentic people. Where are all the Franks? If Frank were here, he would be coming up with jokes about the ridiculousness, trying to live his heart's dreams, and thinking compassionately about every person alive, what their realities are and why they do what they do. In a world of division and confusion, these are the only things that will show us the true path forward, and ground each of us to the floor of our true human reality...or help our feet find it again if it has been a long time since we knew its safety.

 

Emily Neblock is a musician and so much more that it hardly fits into words. We love her a whole darn lot!

2021! october 7 & 7 years in missing frank kelso wolfe.

today is 7 years since we lost frank kelso wolfe of royersford borough, montgomery county, pennsylvania, to suicide on october 7, 2014. we miss him so incredibly much, even more in recent months. 2020 and 2021 have been brimming with lessons we feel frank would want us to be easy on ourselves in sifting through, but it often takes conscious effort for that, and we're not always in the most aligned of head-space or heart-space to remember this. life nowadays feels like the most complex it's been for many of us in a while, and it's been doing a whirlwind on our mental health, our bodies, and our bones.

please check back soon for more updates, as we cannot keep up with the world anymore (we still have submissions to post from 2020!), but we will be welcoming ongoing submissions here, with the same process as last year. please feel free to submit even before we can update further here. we welcome your words, your art, your music, your heart on a digital page.

there will be no direct date or physical open mic, the same as last year (we miss steel city coffeehouse & brewery! please support this local business); this is a more creative form of our usual annual event and will be ongoing so that art and words can keep pushing forward with no deadline.

see 2020 submissions info here until 2021 info is updated, but again, it will be the same process, so hopefully that's helpful for everyone, in how it's difficult to for us to keep up, but we're doing our best, like so many of us are right now in our exhausted existences. expect more edits ahead in this post for the 2021 memorial open mic in blog-form nowadays for frank. and thank you for taking the time to visit, to read these tossings of language in the seventh annual memorial open mic, now in blog-form for the second year, since last year kinda basically threw everyday life upside-down.

 

 

<3 

 jen & emily

2020: reflections, bird haiku, another poem, & recipes by maryann neblock.

 

MaryAnn Neblock shares reflectively here—

I feel older in the age of COVID and Trump than my chronological years. I love my husband of 44 years and my 2 adult children. My husband has been my caregiver and strength and helps me through my complicated life and extensive medical history. My family is my lifeline, my foundation. Crohn’s Disease has ravaged most of my adult life, but I try very hard not to measure everything else against it. I’m new to writing poetry and haiku, and it’s offered me some catharsis. My poem "Un•Whole•Y•Ness" was written in a Prednisone-induced bout of insomnia after my Dad passed away in 2017. Bird haiku came about from enjoying seeing birds outside of my house, where we feed them and offer a birdbath to drink and splash around. Cooking is my passion and refuge, and I’ve been preparing food for family since I was 9 years old. Recently, I’ve been photographing my creations and formatting original recipes to share with friends, family, and the recipe index on Kimberton Whole Foods' website. Last year, my husband and I were able to share our love of music and sang at Frank’s 2019 celebration of life at Steel City Coffeehouse. I hope we can honor him again that way in 2021.

The current environment in our country would have been very difficult for a tortured soul; it’s exceedingly difficult for most of us. Rest in peace, Frank. We honor you and your life on this day and beyond.

 

*

 

In 2019, Berks Bards celebrated 21 years as a local poetry-promoting nonprofit in Berks County. MaryAnn served as the featured poet as a bird haiku writer during the celebratory get-together during April as National Poetry Month at Brandywine Branch Distillery & Bistro, in Chester County, not far from the border of Berks County. This video showcases MaryAnn's bird poems she read for the event.

Below is one of her bird haiku samplings, from the video.

 

CROW

Shiny black feathers
You “caw” to me while in flight
Heaven’s wings aloft 

  

*

 

In 2017, MaryAnn wrote a poem about her experience with Crohn's Disease and its impacts on her body in daily life. It is the poem below, which was later published in a newsletter through The Oley Foundation based in Delmar, New York.

Un•Whole•Y•Ness

I lie awake in bed at night
Hoping to fall asleep
To dream..to be whole
The soft whir of the pump
ka-chunk     ka-chunk
Moving liquid nutrients into my heart
And eventually into what’s left of my gut

How did I become this creature?
This artificial being in body
While still real and whole in mind and soul

How can the body fail so as to betray
the spirit that drives me?
And how do I go on from here
To fulfill my purpose with such distraction?

Tomorrow is another day
To push through the daily rituals
Until the whir of the pump once again
Lulls me to sleep..and I become whole

 

*

 

And here are some of MaryAnn’s delicious-as-a-curse-word recipes published through Kimberton Whole Foods—

Unstuffed Peppers
Vietnamese Soup AKA canh chua or cá nấu
Navy Bean Soup 

Ricotta Frittata
Lamb Meatballs with Yogurt Mint Sauce
Southwestern Style Lentil Vegetable Soup

2020: a poem by katy giebenhain.

 

Still Quiet

In the wind colorful bedclothes
wave thoughtfully on the balcony
Behind a pile of shirts,
Fragrant hemp by a spinning wheel

– Emil Lerperger, translated from the German by Jim Wayne Miller

In the wind colorful bedclothes
lift, extending bellies of air. Suppose
the sheets could unpin themselves. Would
they sail far? They could
but won’t. Possibility comes and goes;
in the wind colorful bedclothes

wave thoughtfully on the balcony
prayer flags far from the Himalayas, see
each pillow case spread
their damp seams fed
from sunlight strong and steady;
wave thoughtfully on the balcony.

Behind a pile of shirts,
bare feet, and more pressed skirts
the linoleum warms.
Still quiet, the old clock-arms
shift, preparing for the hour’s alerts
behind a pile of shirts

fragrant hemp by a spinning wheel
piles up its decree. She can feel
that rain is coming,
but does not mind, keeps thumbing
pegs in place. Here is today’s seal:
fragrant hemp by a spinning wheel.

Katy Giebenhain is the author of Sharps Cabaret (Mercer University Press). Her poems have appeared in The Arkansas Review, The Healing Muse, Bridge Eight, The Examined Life Journal, The Glasgow Review of Books and elsewhere.

2020: the song "in the end" by ida maria.

 

i am pretty sure i burned frank a CD copy of the album ''fortress round my heart'' from 2008 by ida maria years ago and that he ended up telling me later how much he liked it, that it really stood out to him. i wish i remembered specifics, but it's more the feeling of it, what i remember best, and that's probably what really counts.

norgwegian musician ida maria børli sivertsen has a lot of upbeat, vibe-you-on-up songs, the kinds built to make you want to dance the hell around. and i love those from her plenty.

but ''in the end'' is a song by her which i love in its slower degrees of movement, one always reminding to slow down in myself, stilling enough to see what's beautiful around me and in what i've known, like the moments i had with frank in our friendship.

this photo below of red-petaled tulips off in the distance is from a springtime walk i took during my workday. it reminds me of catching up fast, to glimpse and capture the scene, and to slow down in appreciating what it can bring to a single heart or perhaps a few or more hearts than just this one in our world. and i feel like noticing art around me to photograph is frank nudging and tapping at me sometimes from the inside, a welcome reminder for me to document would-be missed art for myself and also so others can learn about its existence to experience.

and below here is the song ''in the end'' by ida maria. at least a few times a year, i remember that it's out there, and i play it on repeat. please enjoy it for your heart and for frank's.

— jennifer hetrick