Dark skies
loom over me
like a grumpy older brother.
I slump
and try to hide
until his mood


As this is my final post for National Poetry Month, I thought I’d reflect a little about the process of writing a poem a day for the last 30 days. First of all, yay me, I did it! It was hard to find time to write every day but I did. Of course this wouldn’t have been possible without the support of my family. So, yay family, too! In many ways it was great to write every day. It gave me faith that I can indeed write every day, that I won’t run out of things to say, or things to write about. Writing every day pushed me to be creative. Would I have written about a fire hydrant if I hadn’t committed to writing about a backyard treasure every day for 30 days? I doubt it. What I didn’t like about writing and posting every day was not having more time for revision and critique. I missed having the time to put the poems aside and then look back at them with distance. With distance odd rhymes, awkward meter, and confusing content become louder and easier to hear. If I do this again next year, I’ll try to start a week early so I can build in a little cushion. I may even decide to take weekends off. Writers need to write but I do think they also need breaks. I might also try to come up with a theme that provides more variety. I thought Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s thrift store them was brilliant. In any case I have 11 months to decide.













I also want to thank Jone Rush MacCulloch and her student Dylan J. Last week they sent me a wonderful postcard as part of Jone’s celebration of National Poetry Month at her blog Check It Out. I absolutely adore the phrase “unhurried worm.” I’d like to be an unhurried worm some days. I hope you enjoy the poem and illustration as much as I did.

I’ll be taking a blog break from now until May 16 when I’ll be hosting Poetry Friday. See you then!

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved

photo-274 - Version 3















taps the roof
rocks the leaves
soaks the soil
fills me.
Then the thunder comes
and smacks me
in the back.
My eyes overflow.
I laugh
and run outside
to skip through the river
in the street.


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved
















What kind of witch
wears a hat like this?
Orange and plastic and big.

What kind of witch
leaves her hat in the ditch
to be hit by a wide-wheeled rig?

Where is the witch?
Did she make a dark switch
to a hat that matches her wig?

Or did the old witch
try a spell with a glitch
and turn herself into a twig?


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved












Today I have one for the kids and one for the grown ups.


city life
the birds take a bath
in the gutter


Wall Street
the birds take a bath
in the gutter


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved














wishes floating
                        on a breath
on earth
                                      dandelion fluff


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved
















Officer Hydrant

He stands at the corner
minding his post,
this stodgy old man
from the Cardigan coast.

He wears a stiff bowler
and a watch on a chain,
but he won’t take his eyes
off his fragile domain.

He watches and waits,
always ready to go.
If there’s ever a fire,
this codger will blow!

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved

photo-270 - Version 2















I tickle the thick blue ogre
under the chin until
he opens his mouth.
I slip the treat
onto his tongue,
not to let him
bite my fingers.
He swallows it whole.
I can’t see it anymore,
but I know it’s there,
sitting in his stomach
with the rest
of his lunch.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved
















The Sidewalk
A ribbon tied
around our town,

A strangled root’s
defiant frown,

A canvas
for my shadow.
A skating rink
for skipping rocks,

A way to measure
city blocks,

A path from me
to you.


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved













Swoop in circles
around the sun.
Go on and on,
                and on,
                     and on.
Wear layers.
Carry water.
Don’t laugh when we run.
Don’t cry when we dig.
Give us a home.
Keep our history
under your skin.
Shiver and explode.
Remind us
you exist.
When you are sick
and feverish,
forgive us.
Hold us


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved















Magic Seeds

Seeds for sale!
Magic seeds for sale!
A dozen for a dollar
or a tired old cow.
Each striped sliver
small enough
to fit on the end
of your finger
ten feet of stem,
a dozen leaves,
and a flower
the size of a pie.
But that’s not all,
you also get
a buzz of bees,
a visiting of goldfinch,
a season of “wow!”s,
and a thousand more
magic seeds.


© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved