in july of 2025, frank's mom passed away.
we miss her very much.
below is her obituary.
https://www.klotzbachfuneralhomes.com/obituaries/cecilia-wolfe/#!/obituary
thank you to everyone who made it to the 10th anniversary of our annual memorial open mic for frank wolfe! and thank you to those who couldn't make it but wished us well by email.
below is the video i made of ''the pain words'' ripped up during the event and then burned by me. i was traveling right after the event and am finally catching up at existence and its to-do-lists now, so i am very happy to get this on the interwebs now:
hello, everyone! 2024 is the year of the 10th annual memorial open mic for frank kelso wolfe at steel city coffeehouse & brewery in phoenixville, chester county.
we hope that if you haven't been able to attend in the past or in recent years that you might be able to this year. and please welcome new folks, too, if you think they'd like to attend and would appreciate what we do at this event annually in promoting honesty, creativity, art, humor-laced living, understanding, and what it is to be decent and respectful to each other in a complex modern world.
emily neblock and i (jen hetrick) will be co-hosting and can't wait to see anyone who can attend. thank you for your continued support as well as that of steel city coffeehouse & brewery. <3
any questions in advance can be sent to poetrywithjenniferhetrick at yahoo dot com.
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.
(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.
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
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.
*
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
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
