photo by Kate Inglis

Welcome to My Seriously Joy-filled World of Words! 

In a world that makes no sense to me, making nonsense makes sense.

I'm a writer, reciter, a speaker, a teacher, a sister, a daughter, a mother, a wife. A listener, a seeker, a maker of nonsense, a reader, a leader, a lipslippery fool. A doctor, a walker, a talk-talk-talk- talker, a giggle-glad Oma, an odd sort of soul.

Yearner and learner
An ever beginner!
Hope is my teacher
Life is my school.

Portrait by Sydney Smith

I'm currently grateful to be 2013/2014 WRITER IN RESIDENCE at Pictou/Antgonish Regional Library. My readings and workshops are listed here. Come join me!


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Book News


New edition out in April!


Singily Skipping Along with art by Deanne Fitzpatrick (Fall 2013)

Come live and be merry and join with me and sing the sweet chorus of Ha Ha Hee.  ~ William Blake


Interview with Kerry Clare, thoughtful reviewer and tireless champion of books, literature, and writers.




THE RIVER GOD - BBC recording.  


Response : 

Heraclitus Again

Yesterday when the river opened
so did my heart
flowing water swirled a reminder  
how constant change 
how life is art

This river has a River Goddess
she quenches thirst
she fills smalls pools with sacred visions
she offers me
occasional verse. 

#NationalPoetryMonth : #Beaudelaire to #Debussy to #Stutzmann  

Born April, 9th, 1821 Paris, France. 


Stay Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the 
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks 
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually 
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be 
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of 
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, 
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, 
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything 
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is 
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and 
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:"It is time to be 
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be 
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

Charles Baudelaire


But the Hangover.....


Isn’t worth it at this age. Waking up dry-mouthed, lopsided, spongy-brained inside a head the size of a tombstone. You roll over, rise from bed, wobble with queasy dizzy steps to close the curtains, take a Tylenol, shut out the sun, the birds, the human buzz, everything that' singing ringing shining on, flip the pillow over to where it's cool and fresh, undrooled on and sleep til supper. (Not that I’ve ever really had the luxury of this kind of drunkeness.) Much. But those few nights of overindulgence were worth it, dim memories now swallowed up by time. So stay drunk on words, stay inebriated on music, cadence, stories. It’s easy when you discover how joy hides under rocks and joy is the drink you need. 

 Besides, Baudelaire, you're a sober looking man to be giving such advice -or perhaps you're permanently hungover --  

Monsieur, we don't have to be anything, not even GOOD as Mary Oliver permits us , or perfect, as this is impossible.

 We don't even have to be. 

But if we are, yes ,oui,

staying drunk on 

poetry or music 

is excellent advice. 




Here I am ---drunk on Paris. 


Here is

Nathalie Stutzmann: The complete "5 Poèmes de Baudelaire





#NATIONALPOETRYMONTH : #YipHarburg, #PaulineMarois, #EvaCassidy.  

Yip  Harburg was born April 8, 1896. Did you know the name of  this amazing poet and lyricist? I didn't.  

Ding dong the witch is dead Which old witch? the wicked witch ding dong the wicked witch is dead she's gone where the goblins go below below below below below so we can sing so we can sing ding dong your very own sing it high sing it low ding dong the wicked witch is dead!!!

Today's response : 
Wahoo Marois is gone Marois is gone Marois is gone
Wahoo Adieu Marois adieu
Wahoo Marois Marois
No more comme ci comme ca
We are one you are undone 
Wahoo Marois adieu!  
To be happy : 

More about amazing ahead of his time Harburg 
More about Quebec politics today 

And my favourite rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow Ever by Eva Cassidy. 
Thank you Mr. Harburg.  A poem that will live and shiver us for ever. 

#NationalPoetryMonth : Frank O'Hara, #BillieHoliday  

April 7th, 1917 Billie Holiday was born.  Her life was an epic tragic poem (some might say). But her voice! 
The day she died, July 17th, 1959, Frank O'Hara, American poet, wrote a poem.
Frank O'Hara 
It was called  The Day Lady Died.  
In 2003, Phil Levine, poet did a reading of that poem.

Phil Levine 

Listen here: 
Todays' thoughts:  
                Here I am at the end of a never ending line  
of people who need to sing and say
to be an o'hara, a holiday, a levine, but no, to be only
myself is struggle enough  
once I roamed the streets of New York 
ankle deep in smoky moondust
walked past people holding signs of missing loved ones 
sat elbow to elbow with weeping strangers in St. Patrick's Cathedral 
three days after that day we all died
today I woke up to sun warming a potholed dirt road in the country
our long dreamed of Innisfree
where there are woodpeckers, nuthatches,chickadees,
I stripped beds, excited to hang sheets on the line 
but these lines came first 
that's the thing about curiosity 
asking who was born today or who died: 
you can suddenly find yourself  lost 
in a smoky jazz bar, or a church, or an old wound   
a forgotten yearning to sing the blues. 
Now, you: your turn
for you
are at the beginning
of the end
of this line----------