Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Julie E Bloemeke’s “Electric Mail” is #181 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM

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***Julie E Bloemeke’s “Electric Mail” is #181 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece. 

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? There are very few poems that I have not first composed in longhand, and “Electric Mail” is no exception.  In looking back through my journals, I discovered the first draft was written on October 30, 2009, and did not have a title.  
          On November 10, I entered the poem into a word document and began editing; the title then was “Jolt.”  That document contains 27 revisions of the initial poem.  In about the third revision, I started thinking about the term email and recalled that it was short for electronic mail.  
          And I thought, given that this poem explores the electricity of connection, wouldn’t that be evocative if the title was, instead, “Electric Mail.”  On October 3, 2010, almost a full year later, I had a version of it that I felt was getting close to being realized.  By July 1, 2011, I had added “Electric Mail” to a tentative compilation of Slide to Unlock.  By November 2013, I was submitting the manuscript with “Electric Mail” included.  The version is very similar to the final one that appears in the book.   
          [Incidentally, the Atlanta book launch for Slide to Unlock (originally slated for March 2020, now hopefully rescheduled for the fall) is a both a performance and benefit for Lost-n-Found Youth (https://lnfy.org/). 

            In order to honor the ekphrastic roots of Slide to Unlock, and explore the idea of mis/dis/re-connection, the event is focused on showcasing a series of galleries, each incorporating tangible items that informed the creation of the collection.  
          “Electric Mail” has a gallery, and part of what it will contain are the 17 spiral-bound journals—all handwritten—where almost every poem in the manuscript came to be over the course of a decade.  They will not be on view to flip through, but will merely be present.  
          There is something, I think, about seeing the tangible volume (quite literally) of ten years of work, all in one space.  And it is a reminder too, about how much of our communication these days is ephemeral—our texts, emails, messages are lost to pixels, unable to be reclaimed or return to as a point of reflection, unless we intentionally choose to save them. ]

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? I cannot recall where I was exactly.  But maybe it is helpful to know that I have written poems everywhere, including in car pool and in waiting rooms, sitting in a tree house and next to the Maumee River in Toledo.  I have drafted in museums and on airplanes, in abandoned houses, in Paris restaurants, and, as kismet would have it, even in the cottage my family once owned.  Another family—once complete strangers and now dear friends—was generous enough to invite me to write there.  

        Certain poems from Slide to Unlock were composed and revised on my grandmother’s table—a piece of furniture my family behind when they sold the cottage when I was still a teenager.  So to return to that once-home—and that surface so rife with memory—was an incomparable gift.   I am absolutely convinced that some of the timbre of Slide to Unlock was informed by the sacred and rare experience of being able to return to a space—not just a room, but a table in that room—that I truly believed I might never see or experience again.  I walked out of the cottage door when I was a teenager, thinking it was the last time.  And by some miracle of generosity, twenty-some years later, I walked back in to find it in many ways much unchanged.  It is as close to time travel as we can come.

How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) In total, there were about 30 to 40 drafts, which is not unusual for the way that I write and edit.  I will share a portion of part of the poem, in part because there is something captivating, I think, about seeing one’s handwriting—a signature on multiple levels.  But I cannot share the whole poem, maybe because some of the lines I did not use might come into another poem.  And, in a way, it feels like a bit of odd exposure.  My notebooks are a compilation of poem drafts, journal entries, musings, ideas.  I have glued in ephemera I hope to remember—plane tickets, wine labels, love notes, travel brochures, and much more that I won’t share here.  So to even share this much of a poem in process is coming from a deep vault of privacy, a sacrosanct corridor.

Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us? Well, there was this line, which informed the interior of the poem, but that I ultimately felt was too overt:  “I can/heal, hear you again/remember why and why/not.”  

          What is so compelling to me now, answering these questions, is that those lines were offering the sensibility of Slide to Unlock, though I did not know it at the time.  In a way, they were also guiding force.  Part of what I always hoped Slide to Unlock might manifest was to be a book of healing and companioning, to ameliorate some of the loneliness and disconnection we feel in our supposedly highly connected world.   
          Keep in mind that I believe this firmly:  I talk about the poems as entities because that is how they feel to me.  I do not feel that I have written them so much as that they have come through me.  My calling as an artist is to help the poems come into words as they would want to come into words, not as I see them needing to be.  I am not sure if that makes sense to anyone but me but that is how I feel about it. I also thought I would share a line that morphed considerably by the final version, but that shows the initial architecture of the poem was there, even from the first draft:

“This way I cannot/ see the loops and dips of your/written, but your words/standard type.  I cannot smell the stationery or regret/ the stamps.”

As you will see, “the loops and dips of your written” is a phrase that came in and stayed, in every version.

What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem? I don’t enjoy imposing any of kind of reading on a reader.  My hope is that the poems do their work subjectively, individually, to each person that experiences then.  I hope they are read in ways I could never anticipate.  In fact, to me that is part of the mystery and the magic—and the terror too.  We have no idea how they will resonate and travel, nor should we.  Poems have lives of their own; they should be free to live them.

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? Every word of it. The poem knew that, and it knew what I did not know I would know now, which is that it would arrive into the world in the midst of a pandemic, a chapter where we are even further expanding our understanding of how we connect.  
          Screens have become vital to our sense of community—calls, emails, texts, video, Facetime, live Zoom events have all now become the way we reach each other; they enable us to feel less alone in our social.  

      Note not in social media but in the new social phrases:  social distancing and social isolation, and in our imposed quarantines. In the days of landlines we could “reach out and touch someone,” and now, as this poem said eleven years ago, we are experiencing “touch without touch,” kissing screens to be close those we love, pressing our hands to the surface of devices in solidarity, as Kai Coggin (Above Right) (https://www.kaicoggin.com/
does on her Wednesday Night poetry series.   
          It is a line that now haunts me, “touch without touch,” that I go back to, missing the physicality and energy exchange of embrace, of holding hands, of a kiss, a pat on the back, a hand on the shoulder, another human to hold our faces in their hands, look us in the eyes and say, I see you, I love you, I am here.
And yet, as in any poem, to write it—indeed, for it to realize itself—we cannot be too emotional about it, or too caught up in it.  We have to let the words do their work.

Has this poem been published before?  And if so where? It remained unpublished until 2015, when Bridge Eight Literary Magazine chose it for issue 03.  “Electric Mail” was one of the first poems from Slide to Unlock to be published and I will never forget the feeling of that, or the intentionality of how I learned the news, which still leaves me reverent over the thoughtfulness of the gesture. The editor at the time, Jared Rypkema (Above Right)  (http://www.jaredrypkema.com/), was so moved by the poem that he called to tell me they wanted to publish it and to ask me questions about my work on Slide to Unlock

          That conversation later became the basis for an interview on the intersection of poetry and screen culture, which ran in a later issue of Bridge Eight, now Bridge Eight Press.  The link to the interview is here:  https://www.bridgeeight.com/words-with-julie-bloemeke/

Anything you would like to add? To order a personalized copy of Slide to Unlock with a vintage skeleton key bookmark, please visit  


You chime in, shock
me back from work,

and I am sudden: swift shot,
crown-to-toe electric in you,
ravenous to read.

Your name presses
from pixels, a promise
of no more silence.

I trace your bends and twists,
letters that stand up in your name,
remember the seventeen years

I searched, my fingers curving
over the imprint of your initials,
your spell. And now you rise
over my screen, come back to me.

It would have been too much
to visit with my body, call
with my voice, send my cursive
to your door. But now I can read

your words, arced at last for me,
savor the scatter of your type without
the loops and dips of your written.

I cannot press your stationery
to my face, see the smudges
you erased on the page, breathe
the scent of you lingering
in the lines. I cannot pocket

you, as before, make an altar
of the few things your hands
once made for me.

We have wires to protect
us now. You are an ocean
away. Still we type, touch
without touch, come closer,

arrive more, and I let you in: my car,
my coat, my sheets. I hold you

in my hand, shocking. I tell myself
these are only letters, pushed through
anonymous keys. We have not lifted

a pen, committed to paper. But already
we are in my deepest vacant room. I take
you to the bed I never left. We fall

together, insisting there is safety
in letters, as we write more, seal
ourselves furiously into what

we already know.

   Julie E. Bloemeke’s first full-length collection of poetry, Slide to Unlock, debuted with Sibling Rivalry Press in March 2020.  
Chosen by Stephen Dunn as finalist for the 2016 May Swenson Poetry Award through University Press of Colorado and Utah State University Press, Slide to Unlock has also been a semifinalist in numerous book prizes including the Crab Orchard Review
     First Book Award and the Crab Orchard Review Poetry Open Competition with Southern Illinois University Press; the Washington Prize through Word Works; and the Hudson Prize through Black Lawrence Press. 
     A  fellow at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, Bloemeke earned her MA in American Literature from the University of South Carolina–where she was a Ramsaur Fellow–and her MFA in poetry from the Bennington Writing Seminars. 

     Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary magazines including Prairie Schooner, Gulf Coast, Cortland Review, Pine Hills Review, Crab Orchard Review, Muse/A Journal, Chautauqua Literary Journal, Poet Lore, and others.  
   Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in a number of anthologies including Mother Mary Comes to Me, A Constellation of Kisses, Nasty Women Poets: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse,  

     The Great Gatsby Anthology, The Sense of the Midlands, The Nancy Drew Anthology, The Southern Poetry Anthology Volume V: Georgia and the My Cruel Invention Anthology, among others.
      She was the first place prize recipient in poetry competitions for both the Atlanta Writer’s Club and the Emory Poetry Council at Emory University and has been a finalist for the Arts & Letters Poetry Prize.  

                    She was also a finalist for the Saluda River Poetry Prize for the State of South Carolina.  Her poem, “Electric Mail” was a finalist in the William Faulkner Wisdom Competition; she was also a winner in the Artists Embassy International Dancing Poetry contest where she read her poem, “Pinned,” as part of the annual performance in San Francisco.
     Her ekphrastic work on Philip C. Curtis was selected for a limited edition chapbook anthology collaboration between the Phoenix Museum of Art and Four Chambers Press; she also won the 2015 ekphrastic poetry competition at the Toledo Museum of Art where her work was on view with the Claude Monet collection.  Her poetry and photography series on abandoned buildings in the Atlanta suburbs was featured in Deep South Magazine
     In addition to serving as a literary docent with the Toledo Museum of Art, she was the inaugural Poetry Director for the Milton Literary Festival in Georgia in 2016.  She also served as the 2020 judge for the Robert V. Morea III Poetry Prize through Georgia State University.
A freelance writer, editor, and guest lecturer, her interviews have recently appeared in The AWP Writer’s Chronicle and Poetry International.  She has also been a guest blogger at Best American Poetry where she wrote about technology poetry and her studies with James Dickey.
She is a proud native of Toledo, Ohio.


001  December 29, 2017
Margo Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”

002  January 08, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake Café”

003 January 12, 2018
Barbara Crooker’s “Orange”

004 January 22, 2018
Sonia Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”

005 January 29, 2018
Ellen Foos’s “Side Yard”

006 February 03, 2018
Susan Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”

007 February 09, 2018
Leslea Newman’s “That Night”

008 February 17, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”

009 February 24, 2018
Charles Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”

010 March 03, 2018
Scott Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”

011 March 10, 2018
Anya Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”

012  March 17, 2018
Angela Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”

013 March 24, 2018
Jan Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”

014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim Honjo’s “Colors”

015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”

016  April 27, 2018
Beth Copeland’s “Reliquary”

017  May 12, 2018
Marlon L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”

018  May 25, 2018

019  June 09, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”

020 June 16, 2018
Charles Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”

021  July 05, 2018
Marla Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”

022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s “Studying Ariel”

023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus Zombie”

024  July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag 2016”

025  August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”

026  August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In the Details”

027  August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”

028  August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two Deaths”

029  August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s “Faces in a Crowd”

030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The Risking Point”

031  September 24, 2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After We Drove”

032  October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s “Astral”

033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”

034  October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache Peaches of Heaven”

035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s “Sobriety”

036  October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The Second Breakfast”

037  November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s “Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”

038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s “Women of the Fields”

039  November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”

040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”

041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s “Dog Sitting”

042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s “Mountain”

043  November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”

044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s “This poem is too neat”

045  December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo for our Dead Father-in-Law”

046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in the Throat”

047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial Day”

048  December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”

049  December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s “Anniversary”

O50  December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in the Texas Desert, June 2014”

051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov

052  December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry

053  December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan

054  December 29, 2018
by Gene Barry

055 January 2, 2019
by Larissa Shmailo

056  January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz

057  January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy

058  January 11, 2019
by Brian Burmeister

059  January 12, 2019
by Clint Margrave

060 January 14, 2019
by Pat Durmon

061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler

062  January 22, 2019
“Views From the Driveway”
by Amy Barone

063  January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky

064  January 30, 2019
by Terry Lucas

065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille

066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro

067  February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown

068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island, Early June”
by Christine Potter

069 February 12, 2019
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum

070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke

071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper

072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh

073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera

074 February 26, 2019
by Sandy Coomer

075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell

076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear

077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall

078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother at 19”
by John Guzlowski

079 March 10, 2019
by Chera Hammons Miller

080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings

081   082   083    March 14, 2019
“Little Political Sense”   “Crossing Kansas with Jim
Morrison”  “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen

084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To Remember”
by Anna Evans

085 March 19, 2019
“At the End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey

086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill

087 March 21, 2019
“Letters From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman

088 March 26, 2019
by Bob Heman

089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois

#090 March 30, 2019
“The Pose”
by John Hicks

#091 April 2, 2019
“Last Night at the Wursthaus”
by Doug Holder

#092 April 4, 2019
“Original Sin”
by Diane Lockward

#093 April 5, 2019
“A Father Calls to his child on liveleak”
by Stephen Byrne

#094 April 8, 2019
by Marc Zegans

#095 April 12, 2019
“Landscape and Still Life”
by Marjorie Maddox

#096 April 16, 2019
“Strawberries Have Been Growing Here for Hundreds of
by Mary Ellen Lough

#097 April 17, 2019
“The New Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz

#098 April 19, 2019
“Tennessee Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr

#099 April 20, 2019
“Mermaid, 1969”
by Tameca L. Coleman

#100 April 21, 2019
“How Do You Know?”
by Stephanie

#101 April 23, 2019
“Rare Book and Reader”
by Ned Balbo

#102 April 26, 2019
by Jefferson Carter

#103 May 01, 2019
“The sight of a million angels”
by Jenneth Graser

#104 May 09, 2019
“How to tell my dog I’m dying”
by Richard Fox

#105 May 17, 2019
“Promises Had Been Made”
by Sarah Sarai

#106 June 01, 2019
“i sold your car today”
by Pamela Twining

#107 June 02, 2019
“Abandoned Stable”
by Nancy Susanna Breen

#108 June 05, 2019
by Julene Tripp Weaver

#109 June 6, 2019
“Bobby’s Story”
by Jimmy Pappas

#110 June 10, 2019
“When You Ask Me to Tell You About My Father”
by Pauletta Hansel

#111 Backstory of the Poem’s
“Cemetery Mailbox”
by Jennifer Horne

#112 Backstory of the Poem’s
by Kate Peper

#113 Backstory of the Poem’s
by Jennifer Johnson

#114 Backstory of the Poem’s
“Brushing My Hair”
by Tammika Dorsey Jones

#115 Backstory of the Poem
“Because the Birds Will Survive, Too”
by Katherine Riegel

#116 Backstory of the Poem
by Joan Barasovska

#117 Backstory of the Poem
by Michael Meyerhofer

#118 Backstory of the Poem
“Dear the estranged,”
by Gina Tron

#119 Backstory of the Poem
“In Remembrance of Them”
by Janet Renee Cryer

#120 Backstory of the Poem
“Horse Fly Grade Card, Doesn’t Play Well With Others”
by David L. Harrison

#121 Backstory of the Poem
“My Mother’s Cookbook”
by Rachael Ikins

#122 Backstory of the Poem
“Cousins I Never Met”
by Maureen Kadish Sherbondy

#123 Backstory of the Poem
“To Those Who Were Our First Gods”
by Nickole Brown

#124 Backstory of the Poem
“Looking For Sunsets (In the Early Morning)”
by Paul Levinson

#125 Backstory of the Poem
by Tiff Holland

#126 Backstory of the Poem
by Cindy Hochman

#127 Backstory of the Poem
by Natasha Saje

#128 Backstory of the Poem
“How to Explain Fertility When an Acquaintance Asks Casually”
by Allison Blevins

#129 Backstory of the Poem
“The Art of Meditation In Tennessee”
by Linda Parsons

#130 Backstory of the Poem
“Schooling High, In Beslan”
by Satabdi Saha

#131 Backstory of the Poem
“Baby Jacob survives the Oso Landslide, 2014”
by Amie Zimmerman

#132 Backstory of the Poem
“Our Age of Anxiety”
by Henry Israeli

#133 Backstory of the Poem
“Earth Cries; Heaven Smiles”
by Ken Allan Dronsfield

#134  Backstory of the Poem
by Janine Canan

#135 Backstory of the Poem
by Catherine Zickgraf

#136 Backstory of the Poem
“Bushwick Blue”
by Susana H. Case

#137 Backstory of the Poem
“Then She Was Forever”
by Paula Persoleo

#138 Backstory of the Poem
by Kris Bigalk

#139 Backstory of the Poem
“From Ghosts of the Upper Floor”
by Tony Trigilio

#140 Backstory of the Poem
“Cloud Audience”
by Wanita Zumbrunnen

#141 Backstory of the Poem
“Condition Center”
by Matthew Freeman

#142 Backstory of the Poem
“Adventuresome Woman”
by Cheryl Suchors

#143 Backstory of the Poem
“The Way Back”
by Robert Walicki

#144 Backstory of the Poem
“If I Had Three Lives”
by Sarah Russell

#145 Backstory of the Poem
by Andrea Rexilius

#146 Backstory of the Poem
“The Night Before Our Dog Died”
by Melissa Fite Johnson

#147 Backstory of the Poem
by David Anthony Sam

#148 Backstory of the Poem
“A Kitchen Argument”
by Matthew Gwathmey

#149 Backstory of the Poem
by Bruce Kauffman

#150 Backstory of the Poem
“I Will Tell You Where I’ve Been”
by Justin Hamm

#151 Backstory of the Poem
by Michael A Griffith

#152 Backstory of the Poem
by Margo Taft Stever

#153 Backstory of the Poem
“1. Girl”
by Margaret Manuel

#154 Backstory of the Poem
“Trading Places”
by Maria Chisolm

#155 Backstory of the Poem
“The Reoccurring Woman”
by Debra May

#156 Backstory of the Poem
“Word Falling”
by Sheryl St. Germain

#157 Backstory of the Poem
“Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup of 7,000 Jews Detained in an
by Liz Marlow

#158 Backstory of the Poem
“Why Otters Hold Hands”
by William Walsh

#159 Backstory of the Poem
“The Invisible World”
by Rocco de Giacoma

#160 Backstory of the Poem
“Last Call”
by Ralph Culver

#161 Backstory of the Poem
by David Dephy

#162 Backstory of the Poem
“Mare Nostrum”
by Janice D Soderling

#163 Backstory of the Poem
“Winnipeg Noir”
by Carmelo Militano

#164 Backstory of the Poem
“Needlepoint Roses”
by Jason O’Toole

#165 Backstory of the Poem
“Singing, Studying on Whiteness, This Penelope Strings”
by Jeanne Larsen

#166 Backstory of the Poem
“How To Befriend Uncertainty”
by Prartho Sereno

#167 Backstory of the Poem
“Shostakovich: Five Pieces”
by Pamela Uschuk

#168 Backstory of the Poem
“Bouquet for Amy Clampitt”
by Peter Kline

#169 Backstory of the Poem
by Catherine Arra

#170 Backstory of the Poem
“Silence – a lost art”
by Megha Sood

#171 Backstory of the Poem/ May 09, 2020
“Horribly Dull”
by Mark DeCharmes

#172 Backstory of the Poem/ May 12, 2020
“Celebrating His Ninety-Second Birthday the Year his Wife Died”
by Michael Mark

#173 Backstory of the Poem/ May 14, 2020
“Night Clouds in the Black Hills”
by Cameron Morse

#174 Backstory of the Poem/ May 18, 2020
“I’ve Been In Heaven For Long”
by Evanesced Dethroned Angel

#175 Backstory of the Poem/ May 20, 2020
by Barbara Crooker

#176 and #177 Backstory of the Poem/ May 25, 2020
“My Small World” and
“My Mistake”
by Tina Barry

#178 Backstory of the Poem/ June 05, 2020
“Against Numbers”
by Andrea Potos

#179 Backstory of the Poem/ June 15, 2020
by Julie Weiss

#180 Backstory of the Poem/ June 20, 2020
“The Tree That Stood Beside Me”
by Carly My Loper

#181 Backstory of the Poem/ June 24, 2020
“Electric Mail”
by Julie E. Bloemeke

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