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

 

2020: 3 poems by rick kearns.

 

plum tree family

the ancient plum tree
dies on a regular basis

new shoots spring from
an eternal root system

new branches grow beside
and around the old ones

now covered with bumps
dark dry but standing still

as the young ones climb
over and around them

with their white blossoms
and promise of sweet blue

plums that feed five generations
of my family that dies, too

but still grows outside
a grand old home, paid for by

the loving but taciturn father
of his beloved daughter who

was my Grandma Kearns, niece
of Sara Estella Dannley, who

gifted the plum tree to our family
100 years ago and now

her grand nephew, my Dad
is 90 and he considers the

gnarly old tree
part of the family, our legacy.

*

Facebook ghosts

joseph took his life

still has a page
on facebook, death has
not removed his profile

the fact that he
hung himself
at night
in a barn

has no bearing
on his social media
presence.

are there ghosts
on facebook?
do the dead
still post?

I don't know
I don't know how
to deal with
these cyber ghosts

I played a siguiriya
for an old friend
who is long gone
but his page lives on

I recorded it
onto Messenger
a PM to a dead friend
who use to play

an agonzingly
beautiful siguiriya
one of the old flamenco
songs that rose

out of the mountains
with the help of
duende, and sherry
and pain.


Do the ghosts
On Facebook
Haunt the cloud?

Do they fly
Through the air
On e currents?

I’d like to think
My dead friends
Check their pages

But I’m not holding my breath.

*

the guitar has something to say

the guitar has something to say
the congas circulate blood and
the cajon is shivering with love

i address the guitar
give thanks string cousin
i sing with the congas
taking me with them
back to Mama Africa
I lay hands on the cajon
waiting for the duende
to rise and help me find
the names not spelled
correctly on the ships’ manifests
of the murderous hordes
that brought me here
to meet the me who was
already here but wondering
why the gods allowed this

the guitar has something to say
the congas circulate blood and
the cajon is shivering with love

 

 

Rick Kearns is a poet, freelance writer and musician of Boricua (Puerto Rican) and European heritage from Harrisburg, Pa.  He was named Poet Laureate of Harrisburg in January 2014. His poems have appeared in over 80 journals including The Massachusetts Review, The Painted Bride Quarterly, The Patterson Review, Yellow Medicine Review, Letras (lit review of the Center for Puerto Rican Studies, Hunter College, NY) and Chicago Review.  Kearns’ poems are also in two books, five national anthologies, two international anthologies and seven chapbooks. Several of his poems have been translated into Spanish and Portuguese.

He has given readings throughout the US since 1992, including at the Nuyorican Poet’s Café in Manhattan and Capicu in Brooklyn. His poetry is also featured in "The Moon Rides a Black Horse" CD, combining his poetry and jazz performed by the Con Alma Quartet (with whom he collaborated between 2010-2014).

More from Rick Kearns—

YouTube Channel
Hispanic Heritage Month Exhibition
Reading for Poetry 2 + 1, Clark Forum for Contemporary Issues, Dickinson College

2020: art by brook ludy.

 

Brook Ludy is a 20 year old writer/artist living in Richmond, Virginia. She is majoring in Kinetic Imaging and minoring in creative writing. She grew up in Roanoke, Virginia, where she started a business selling her art in high school and has illustrated 2 local children’s books. You can check out her work at www.brookludyart.com as well as on Instagram.

2020: a poem by le hinton.

 

 The Heart of the Matter

I am astonished at the asceticism of olives,
the black keys on an otherwise white piano,
and how jelly tolerates the infidelity
of peanut butter with bread.

I’ve always been a bit slow in appreciating
the finer points of intimacy,
the way stuffed animals casually stand
mouths agape while witnessing
the crumpling of dreams in a bedroom.

The tightly closed leaves of an artichoke
protect it from the lies of Casanovas
and other insatiable insects,

but in the end
most olives lack a beating red center.    

 

                    Originally published in Cerebral Catalyst
                    and Black on Most Days

 

Poet, teacher, lecturer, Le Hinton is the author of six poetry collections including, the Language of Moisture and Light (Iris G. Press, 2014) and most recently, Sing Silence (Iris G. Press, 2018). His work has been widely published and can be found in The Best American Poetry 2014, the Baltimore Review, the Pittsburgh Poetry Review, the Summerset Review, the Skinny Poetry Journal, and in many other publications. His poem “Epidemic” was honored by The Pennsylvania Center for the Book and “Our Ballpark” can be found outside Clipper Magazine Stadium in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, incorporated into Derek Parker’s sculpture Common Thread.

His current collection, Sing Silence (formerly A Chorus for Cotton), was a finalist for "The Best Prize for People of Color" from Big Lucks and an honorable mention for the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.

He has read his work at the Library of Congress for Grace Cavalieri's long-running  series, The Poet and the Poem; Penn State University for the Pennsylvania Center for the Book's Public Poetry Project; in Charleston, South Carolina, for the Capital BookFest; and in New York City at the New School for The Best American Poetry 2014 release reading.

2020: relections, songs, & a poem by emily neblock.

 

My spur-of-the-moment morning thoughts on mental health:

Things pass, somehow, in those difficult moments. What is it we are living for, keeping our eyes set on? What things are our hope, and if we are without it, where can we find it? What things in life are big enough to make the hard things seem like passing clouds? And if we don't have those things... Can we find them?"

—Emily Neblock
Tuesday, October 6, 2020

 

 

I am from
(inspired by the poem "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon)

I am from Skinny action figures and Barbie dolls.
In-between empowerment and whoring
Aphids on the conifers, slowly thinning the walls of my hiding places.
I am from the top right room of a yellow house.
It's not yellow anymore, and I'd like to think it remembers, but the siding was replaced instead of painted over.
The light’s on in the top right room,
Crib to twin to queen,
Performing well,
What else is there?
Living hell.
From poring over shel silverstein poems and goodnight moon
To hours eaten by reality tv.
What am I from?
More than one word.
A mockery.
A steep descent into puberty.
A million suns dancing all over the ground.
If they stayed still it would burn.

 

Emily Neblock is a singer-songwriter and artist from near Philadelphia, PA. She plays loving, inquisitive jazzy folk music, which can be found at EmilyNeblock.Bandcamp.com. She also plays in an electric blues-rock band called Hex Highway Blues Band. Updates on this can be found by searching for the "Hex Highway Blues Band" Facebook page.

2020: comedy re-uncovered by jennifer hetrick through rainn wilson & eric wareheim.

 

every once in a while, i think of this clip and quoting by eric wareheim's character, gabor, from season 9 episode 13 of the office, and i bust out laughing to myself gleefully; it always bumps up any level of mood i'm in at a given time.

i recently shared this quote and clip with a friend in joking about less-spoken of superpowers we have in the world. two of hers were that she rode a motorcycle decades ago (not always seen as a female-specific skill and pastime, and even less in the past) and that she can push her car, a 1979 MGB LE, when it breaks down at an intersection or elsewhere while driving. my thus far identified superpowers shall remain unnamed. =)

gabor's part in speaking about his superpowers is about 2 minutes into this clip, but the entire snippet is worth seeing, in my humor-loving opinion. 

eric wareheim is from the duo of tim and eric awesome show, great job! it aired on cartoon network from 2007 to 2010, and i have at least one or two of the seasons as DVDs. eric grew up in audobon, montgomery county, not far from where frank grew up in royersford. i can't remember if frank and i ever talked about eric or his co-comedian, tim heidecker, but i know he would want me to inject comedy into these posts whenever damn possible, so i am obliging via his heart here and also because i just love these scenes so darn much.

below, i'm including some of the dialogue from my favorite part, and the first part for context, followed by the clip itself.

— jennifer hetrick 

Dwight: When I was young, I spent several years at a private school where I was told I would be taught to harness my mutant abilities. Turned out it was a conman copying Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters from the X-Men comic books. Took me years to figure out that it was a con. Some people never figured it out.

Gabor: Oh, I have a few powers. Night hearing. Dogs understand where I point. And our training included picking carrots, scrubbing tubs, sewing imitation Levi’s. A lot of telemarketing.

2020: a poem by khalid guiden.

 

in 2018 while at firefly bookstore in kutztown, berks county, for a poetry reading followed by an open mic, i met khalid guiden. i could have let my introvert-self keep me from opening introductions socially at the end of the event, but my insides wouldn't let me because the poem he read to the crowd drew an especially real-feeling line to my heart—invisibly in the air—as he spoke each next word into the room. 

compelled by his poem for his grandmother he'd lost shortly after writing this piece for her, i asked him for permission to share it on my poetry-teaching blog. here is what i shared of it back then with some photos he offered to go with the memories and intentions presented through the writing.

we were so grateful to feature him reading this poem at goggleworks center for the arts this spring through berks bards and our one-minute poems program we host every spring during april as national poetry month, what we locally coin as bardfest. khalid read this poem for us after he and two other student poets from kuztown university (by the way, frank also attended this school) were our featured poets in march 2020; this poetry reading became the last one we hosted in-person, since the COVID-19 pandemic began, so my fellow volunteer organizers and i are incredibly aware of how fortunate we were for the many monthly events we hosted in the community for years before abruptly yet safely going virtual, and we remember these students in a sense of awe, as our last in-person featured poets, and because of their time with us and also knowing how hard 2020 has been on young people in school and college in how their worlds were reshaped, challengingly so, in a matter of weeks and months.

please share this powerful poem onward.

— jennifer hetrick

2020: a poem by heather h. thomas.

 

Atonement

Which one travels
toward the stranger?

Who in nightspeed slits
of borders, time zones

word-maps crossing
multilingual

what’s on the tongue
risking trust

without translation
atonement in a zip of light

drawn across the sky’s
at(one)ment

as the light shifts
but does not separate

one with other, one. 

This poem appears in Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureates on Social Justice (Michigan State University Press, 2019) and in Vortex Street (FutureCycle Press, 2018). 

 

Heather H. Thomas is the author of Vortex Street, Blue Ruby (FootHills Publishing, 2008), and other poetry books. Her poems are forthcoming in The Wallace Stevens Journal, Barrow Street, Planet in Crisis, and The Shining Rock Poetry Anthology. Connect with her at www.heatherhthomas.com and on Facebook. 

2020: poems by ruth z. deming.

 

In 2017, Ruth Z. Deming had a creative nonfiction essay about Frank published in an online magazine called Kaleidoscope. We highlighted this on the blog that year.

Ruth has been a dedicated participant in our annual memorial open mics for Frank and always expresses much gratitude for this work we do in his memory and so others can learn from him, so we can all continue learning from him for his own sake and for ourselves in what we have yet to take in through our understanding of who each of us is in this world we share.

She offers some of her poetry via video this year.

Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP, is founder/director of New Directions Support Group, for folks with depression, bipolar disorder and their family members. Visit www.newdirectionssupport.org to learn more. She writes Letters to the Editor to dispel myths about mental health conditions. She has written hundreds of poems and short stories. She lives on a quiet street in Willow Grove, PA, where her art work - made of PVC pipes from Home Depot - graces her lawn.

2020: 2 poems by mimi zannino.

 

HIDING PLACES

where does grief hide
during moments
when vision clears
tears evaporate
the veil of sorrow
sweeps into the current

does it burrow with
furry-backed creatures
nuzzle with their warmth

does it soar above the canopy,
its eagle eye trained on
a rodent fit to die in the
clench of its talons

does it lunge from the bottom
of a cold sea, brace itself against
the chill, witness liquid breath
without choking on its sobs

and when it resurfaces
has it changed just enough to
let you know...

 

*

 

When Words are All I Have

This space is for you.
Here — this conduit —
between brain and heart,
undetectable on an x-ray,
is where the us of you and me
resides, since your body has
gone missing.

It is a floating place,
but we will carve out letters
from our separateness and
scatter them like breadcrumbs
along the distance between us

so, one day, we can find
our way back home.

 

 

Poet, Rosemarie Law (MiMi Zannino) has been a teaching artist with the Maryland State Arts Council since 1989. Most recently, she has researched, written and performed her one-woman living history show: Time-Travel with Virginia Hall, America’s Greatest World War II Espionage agent for audiences from Washington DC to Florida. She also portrays the American Poet, Emily Dickinson followed by a Q-and-A with audiences. EmilyDickinsonLive.com GardenPartyMusic.com

2020: a poem by marilyn LT klimcho.

 

Covid-19

(For context, this poem was written on March 13, 2020.)

A newly deconstructed tree,
Stacked in my neighbor’s yard
Provides safe harbor
For a flock of sparrows
Sheltering momentarily
Inside the pile of familiar
Limbs gone awry, as if
These sawed branches
Are a new form
Trees have adopted
In response to the age of
Patio fire pits.
The sparrows twitter and flit,
Performing an examination
Of interstices and unnatural
Intersections between
Trunk and branches.
Sparrows are brown and
Ordinary, as ordinary
As you and I, looking
At the breakdown
Covid-19 has created
As we respond to
Spreading infection.
The wider world’s problems
Have found us and the
Unnatural quiet on the
School yards, in the stadiums,
And theaters is evidence
Of that. We flit, furtive,
Through our deconstructed
World, looking at the
Gaping holes, but looking
Also for the connections
That aren’t sawed through.
We sparrows chatter loudly,
Startle easily, react rapidly
Fly off in a new direction.
We are a nervous flock.

Marilyn Klimcho is the author of poems and short stories that have appeared in The Schuylkill Valley Journal, Birdsong, Coast to Coast: The Route 20 Anthology and others. Her award-winning work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

2020: music & history tellings by chris larose & friends.

 

This nearly 17-minute video set in the natural world across in Lebanon County, Pennsylvania, brings together music and local river, canal, industrial, and environmental history through the artistic efforts of Chris LaRose, Mike Merling, Emily Neblock, and Cody Young.

While Chris never had a chance to meet Frank, we like to imagine how rewarding and fulfilling their conversations would have been, as Chris is a great person to share brain-space with in talking about life, nostalgia-rich appliances and manufactured-anything from old days, farming, subcultures, and little and big moments of all kinds across days and experiences as people on this earth.

Chris LaRose hails from Lock Haven, PA, playing driving, foot-stomping acoustic blues and genuine historical folksongs. In addition, he plays in a PA Dutch folk/bluegrass duo, a folk & historical folk duo, and leads an electric blues-rock band called Chris LaRose & the Hex Highway Blues Band. Updates on this can be found by searching for the "Hex Highway Blues Band" Facebook page. His original music can be found at ChrisLaRoseMusic.com or by searching for "Chris LaRose Music" on Facebook.

2020: 4 poems by mary mcginnis.

 

Stick Of Lightning


Sleep, like a stick of lightning

pierces and then lets go-

 

the touch of sleep last night

I noticed brought sweating rather than burning. So, it

 

couldn't have been a stick of lightning that

kicked me into memory.

 

Stick of lightning would be a good way for me to exit

without a fuss, like a star burning up in a hurry.

 

Slightly over a year ago, you took your own life-

the star of your own show.

 

You had been planning it for a long time,

deliberately choreographing.

 

I was angry then, but now I get it.

You had the unbearable need for perfection to be restored.

 

For us on the outside, your life looked good:

Buddhism, recognition, menudo with Bob,

 

two bedroom assisted living apartment

with wood and tile floors,

 

dining room across the street where we wrote once.

It's a cliché, what did we know?

 

You left like a stick of lightning with concentrated power,

first no food, then no water. Friends around and by phone.

 

Is that what comes of never complaining

and always laughing?

 

The last time I saw you, you were stung by a bee.

We packed up our picnic and one of us took you to the e. r.

 

Bob, Barbara, and I took a sad little walk.

I lived through this but not that.

 

 *

 

Looser


Let go of the jailhouse of

ordinary time. Because of this virus,

on our honor, we wash our hands,

sanitize our apples,

excite the old-fashioned woman in us who suddenly

remembers she has an oven and might

like to cook.

If you're a man who never has, get

over it!

Sing at the sink while you wash the inevitable

evening dishes.

Remember, time is a slow thread now.

 

Lie in bed a little longer, and enjoy an

old habit long overdue.

Outside at least one window,

some birds keep their song,

even the

ravens hover and watch safely.

 

 
*

 

Part of My Shadow


You're part of my shadow, though gone;

you were the one who picked up little pieces of paper when they fell.

You were the one who made art where dust was.

You were the one who watched birds on afternoons at home and everywhere.

 

I was the one who always talked,

and after you listened, I talked less.

And you did things I didn't want you to do like

gambling in a harmless way and not taking down phone messages.

 

Neither of us care about that now.

You are an anchor in my shadow,

the friend I can still speak to,

the part in me that breathes a little deeper,

the part that holds stones until they are warm.

 

*

 

Death, Don't Break Me Open

Death, don't break me open-

Not yet.

It can't hurt to ask for a big brawny techy

man or woman to show me if my turntable still works.

 

It can't hurt to go to Big Lots again

for the purchase of some weird, in between

food or drink such as Diet Partner Tea.

 

I want a reservation on a not-cruise

so I start to remember my dreams again.

 

Death, don't break me open;

come in fragile politeness as if in a dream.

Bring me a banana dress - I've never had one.

 

Death, you look a little scary,

like white margarine.

Let's see if we can make a deal.
 

 

 

Mary McGinnis, blind since birth, has been writing and living in New Mexico since 1972 where she has connected with emptiness, desert, and mountains. Published in over 80 magazines and anthologies, she has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and has three full length collections: Listening for Cactus (1996), October Again (2008), See with Your Whole Body (2016), and a chapbook, Breath of Willow, published by Lummox for winning the poetry contest in 2017. Mary frequently offers poetry readings and writing workshops in Santa Fe and Albuquerque, New Mexico.

2020: comedy by jennifer hetrick—oops in the introvert-life.

 

some comedy to mix in here, as we know frank would want that—

here is an october-specific story from jennifer hetrick, as a co-manager of this annual memorial open mic for frank wolfe.

yesterday while on a walk, i saw somebody sitting on a porch and did not wanna have to to say hi, so i did not cross the street to finish my walk. i waited to cross the street later.

(this is the tired person and introvert in me, not just my pandemic awareness.)

as i kept walking, on the other side of the street, i realized that the person i thought i noticed was in fact a puffy-faced scarecrow in a porch chair.

haahahaaaaha!

man, i got played like a goddamn crow.

later, i went back to photograph this fellow; a note sitting on the pillow on his lap appears to indicate that his name is fredrick. everybody, say hello to fredrick.

 *

days later—

hahahaaa, oh my gosh. it happened again. i was looking down at my phone after crossing the street on a walk and thought i suddenly saw a person pretty close by who i'd have to say hi to on a porch, but it was fredrick. ha. iyiyiyiy.

2020: a poem by brenda bunting.

 

A Love Letter to the Suicidal

 
The Walkers whisper, “Come to us”. Death wishes like dandelions on green grass appear. In the anguished mindscape is a place called Desolation.

But I care about you. I love you. You are the only life I have truly known. “Come to me.” I am familiar to you.  Remember the days of synchronized steps when we were the dancing contented.
We have our own secrets that no one but you and I know about. Come look at me.  What do you like the most? You have a favorite feature, a certain turn of the head, a deliberate look. We belong together divinely joined by universal law. Our journey hasn’t been easy and sometimes it may feel like I am turning against you, but it is only because of our history together.
I remember everything.

The negative encounters create a soundtrack of sabotage.  A loud insistent quiet asphyxia that must be clearly excised otherwise the repelling, combating, and protecting, will not be sufficient to counter the din.
‘Worthless’, the repeating refrains, ‘Inadequate’, the repeating in our brain.
The haunting memories appear and reappear. Imprints chained to our mind. The showers of disappointment, fear, and hopelessness. Experiences dull to throbbing and we look through breaking mirrors of tormented reflections.

But I can bring you back from your edges, from the cliff face, from your dangling precarious. I find the beautiful in you and cultivate your crown in a safe place. You don’t share the vulnerable with anyone else except yourself. The passage of pain can develop the mettle of integrity and the soul scars heal with a moral fortitude that will be tough yet infused with laughter.

An abyss is waiting to drown us, but we will step over the agony into the power of our peace. It is small and no one may notice but you belong here and now.
I respect life. Your life is my life and we are one.
The steps we have fashioned are the heartbeat of passion.
Don’t destroy the rest of the journey because you don’t understand part of the path.
Come back to love. Love yourself enough to walk on and see the hope waiting just up the road. Live in light my sweet soul.

 

 

Brenda Bunting has a unique voice that is a witness to the realities and challenges of her generation. A Poet that takes her audience on her journey between the intersections of being a woman, an African American, and an advocate that is environmentally and socially conscious. Brenda is the author of, Poems of Love and Violence in Between Life and Death - 1st and 2nd Editions. A competent and insightful Facilitator, Brenda designs workshops that utilize the therapeutic use of writing poetry for mental and emotional wellness and healing from traumatic events. Brenda is a survivor of domestic violence and sexual abuse, a life member of the Kentucky State Poetry Society (KSPS), a volunteer speaker for RAINN, has her B.A. in English and is a Certified Life Coach.

2020: music paired with literary art, brainstormed by emily fields.

 

elementary school music teacher emily fields of pittsburgh pairs the reading of the book listen to the rain by bill martin, jr. and john archambault, illustrated by james endicott with music as "raindrop prelude" by frederic chopin.

 

2020: a poem by alex burns.

 

From Alex Burns—This poem was written a few months ago when a family member was devastated by the loss of another, more distant to me, family member, who committed suicide due to the isolation caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.

 

Candlelight

A light burns brightly
Casting warmth into darkness
Enlivening others
Bringing joy

Till all at once
It is captured
Cut off from others
The oxygen that feeds the flame

The light struggles
It flickers,
Losing strength
And will

Till, at last,
All too soon
No longer is there
Enough to sustain it

Lacking contact
With those others
That precious life force
It flickers out

And yet those others
Many, not few
Are left without light
No flame to guide them

They do not understand
Why the flame is extinguished
How to see through the darkness
What they have lost, or why
 
But have faith,
It will sustain you
When all seems lost
And light your way

 

 

Alex Burns grew up near Leeds, England. During his time there he combined a love of hiking, and folk music, while pursuing a career in IT. IT provided the opportunity to exchange the grey skies of industrial northern England for the US Midwest.

Moving first to Chicago, then Boston, Chicago, Albuquerque, South Carolina and the DC Metro, gave him a broad perspective on US culture and regional differences. Finally, a second move to Albuquerque gave him both the inspiration, and opportunity, to focus on the arts, after retiring from his IT career.

He started writing poems in his teens, and wrote a few poems for his wife, Mary for birthdays or anniversaries. Since retiring to Albuquerque, he has devoted his love of language to describing the beautiful environment he has come to live in. He has also come to find much that he dislikes about what his adopted country is becoming, and our role in threatening the earth upon which we live. He recently self-published his first book of poems, English Impatient, and is working on a second.

2020: songs by ryan rettew, including one inspired by a poem by frank wolfe.

 

here, ryan rettew plays a song partily inspired by jennifer hetrick's three-year poetry project on the manufacturing history of berks county, the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county, involving interviewing more than 70 seniors about their memories of working in factories in mills. this song is  reaches so far in its lyrics and into hearts and is well-worth replaying again and again as you cook in your kitchen, rest in your backyard in the sunshine, or sit close with somebody you love and appreciate in your world.

 

 

in 1970, the grateful dead released the song, ''ripple,'' which is another great one to repeat around the house, taking in ryan's rendition. this song carries a lot of hope and beauty in its sound in our far from easy world, so it's a welcome tune to many of us.

 

 

and we are incredibly happy to bring this song to you from ryan because it is inspired by the final few lyrics of a poem by frank, which is shared below. ryan took inspiration from the poem's third-to-last line and the ones surrounding it in writing this song.

 

 

Poem For My Facebook Friends
By Frank Kelso Wolfe, 7.19.2014

Who ponders pencils peaches and peers

and what we wish to share

a man slipping on ice, a woman skating on it

the questions we comment on

which shade of green we would be

who is now in love

which child is ill, or earned their blue belt

why double rainbows and dancing dogs become important

our moments of waking toss us from year to year

computers connect us in modern solitary ways

while we yearn for the warm blanket of

hand heart holds

that brought us comfort when reality was too real

I caringly, needily, desperately, lovingly type to you

my friends, please be well

prepare yourself to hold someone bodily

when the power goes out

when we discover what lies beneath the tenuous technology

when we the breathing are all we have.

 

 

Ryan Rettew is a singer-songwriter based in Denver, Pennsylvania. She lives there with her husband Jim and is a stay-at-home mom to their three young children.

2020: poems by hiram larew.

 

Spoons or Rakes

What we need now
           is glow –
The sort of night that embers make
The sound in nests
           or apples’ shapes
A glow that gives more than it takes
The kind of spoons or rakes
           that neighbors love
Those hailing lights from distant shores
           that warm the boats
We need the wool of passing years
           or more
What holding close does
           when so little is near

An earlier version of this poem appeared in North of Oxford’s Pandemic Poetry Online Anthology.

 

*

 

When More

What should you do
When bad gathers around to squawk
When fog snakes in
          or ledges creak and crack

What can you do to ward off
Or hold tight
          or wait out

What’s there to do when all the world votes no
          or cuts off escapes
          or growls at your heels

What’s left to do
When more just isn’t enough
When apples bite back
          or shadows
          turn out the lights

The poem first appeared in Better than Starbucks.

 

Hiram Larew's poems have appeared widely and been nominated for four Pushcarts. His Poetry X Hunger initiative is bringing poets from around the world to the anti-hunger cause (www.PoetryXHunger.com). Find him on Facebook at Hiram Larew, Poet.

2020: meet frank wolfe in our sixth annual memorial open mic for him, in blog-form, this year.

onward with our tribute to frank wolfe and learning from his life not only to remember and learn from him but also for ourselves and our hearts, as our world and so many of us in it need very honest, real, humane, genuinely connecting kinds of conversations about what it takes to exist and how creating and taking in art makes us a little more whole in working to survive. through opening up with each other, we can often better see the beauty in so many glimmers across what's difficult and also the pockets of miracles all around us, if we slow down enough to train ourselves to be aware of them in our consciousnesses. let's bump some brains together for the better, here, folks.

this first post of content for the sixth annual memorial open mic for frank in digital form is frank-specific, a welcome back to those of you who miss him and also as a means to introduce newcomers to who frank was to us and for himself.

more and more, we feel that frank would be so grateful to have his name and memory pushed onward not only for his artistry but in advocating that people talk openly with each other, feeling more connected and related to versus alone. we believe that he would love seeing how encouraging we are in the sharing of art across those who are out there creating it or savoring it, as it is a big part of us making it from one day to the next in our worlds.

onward with the good we can make happen by sharing our inner and outer worlds, being there for each other as one person and another and also as communities. we are absolutely meant to be there for each other in this world, one of us lifting the other up when needed, as we all sink into raw, weighted, hard spaces within sometimes, and we are here to balance that out for one another, to take turns in this, to learn from and teach one another, to dive into deeper degrees of conversations, to barrel into laughing so hard that we nearly fall over when comedy hits fiercely as we talk, to keep each other afloat in these shared roles.

frank performing his beloved, well-known poem, "love and bagels at steel city coffeehouse & brewery in phoenixville.

 and here is a video of some of his art.

then, here is some more of his art to glimpse.