Two of my poems have recently been selected for inclusion in new publications. It is an honor and a joy to share my poems with a wider audience.
The Writer’s Gravevine, Spring 2023, includes my poem, “Winter Walk: a Haibun (pgs 66-67) A haibun is a 2-part poem. The first is prose, and the second part a traditional poem echoing the first part.
Winter Walk
It’s a sunny, winter’s day in Michigan. Bundle up the babies, load them in a car; let’s head off for a walk at Kensington. Let’s take one of the familiar trails through the oaks, elms, maples and evergreens and along the lake; it might be frozen today. The snow’s been tramped down by early risers, except for a few bunny and squirrel tracks. We’ll be the first footsteps in the glistening snow. There’s a deer, oh, and a fox in the distance. And here are our dear songbirds. The Juncos, Titmice, and Chickadees are such little beggars. They know we’re carrying treats. Look. The Chickadees and Nuthatches are on those branches just ahead. Such squealing from you, Babies. We know you’re delighted with the songbirds’ chirruping. Softly now; don’t frighten the birds. Birds and humans, we all know the routine. First, here are your goldfish crackers, Kiddos. Oh, my; very little of the crackers are reaching those tiny mouths. You’re like the children in “Hansel & Gretel,” leaving a trail of cracker crumbs behind you. What fun! The wrens, finches, and sparrows are swooping in to glean the tidbits. Okay, time to open our little sack of sunflower seeds. I’ll put a small mound in my hand. Watch, a hand filled with fragrant seeds is irresistible to our feathered followers, I whisper. After a moment, a tiny, warm ball of feathers lands delicately on my palm and selects a plump seed. Then, so quickly, our little visitor flies up, onto a nearby branch. The feeling is exquisite. The warmth of that tiny creature, the softness of those gray feathers, the delicacy of those tiny toes, grasping my finger, resting on my palm – the jolly children and trusting birds, a gift that will stay with me as long as I live.
Winter Walk
Young mothers eager for an outing,
sunshine beyond the window pane,
babies bundled for a snowy day
out of doors.
The crunch of snow beneath our boots,
hunting for her young, a solitary hawk.
Women with babies on their backs
beneath blue skies.
New snow upon old trees,
Old trails to new vistas.
Welcoming songbirds
romp among the branches –
shared joy.
Glistening, black seeds
held high on steady palm.
A heartbeat in silver down
perches to feed. Silent,
we pause.
- Janice F. Booth
The second publication, S/He Speaks: Voices of Women & Trans Folx is publishing my poem “Counterpane” is its new book, being launched June 3, 2023.
Counterpane
Precious quilt, lush and richly hued,
of discarded pieces; lost velvet, worn silk.
Threaded with loss and suffering,
plump with filling of her fabrication – my daughter.
Like Shahrazad, she weaves her own life’s story,
fitting and folding-in her needs.
Looking within her zōētrope –
spinning visions.
There is no yesterday, no treasured
snippets of former garb.
Only today, this vision, this fashion
fits her image now.
My daughter’s guises
stitched from threads of sweetness
and regret, hope and grief.
I fold away discarded specters of my child.
Janice F Booth
Opening Lines 
You know how much I love the winter poem!!! I love Kensington, I love fresh snow, the silence of morning. Your poem was absolutely beautiful!! I loved it. Counterpane was harder for me to read and I’m sure it was harder for you to write. I could feel your feeling in the lines written. Love you so much!!
Congratulations! I look forward to reading