Well, hello there!
Welcome to the poetry potluck — pull up a chair and a compostable paper plate.
Oh, and let me grab you a hibiscus iced tea!

Here’s the truth. My poetry sisters and I plan our whole year of prompts each January. It’s challenging! It’s thrilling! It’s… always incomplete! I can’t say why but we inevitably leave one or two months unspoken for. (In our defense, twelve months is a lot of months.) So when May crept up on us and we didn’t have time to sort anything out, Tanita declared a potluck — a bring-what-you-will — so we did.

Since it’s (very nearly) summer, I decided on my grandmother’s strawberry-rhubarb kuchen — tart, pink, eggy, delicious! And since following a recipe is essential when baking, following a poetic form felt necessary, too. Thus, my triolet (with a couple of little cheats — sorry, but think of it like adding just a little shake of nutmeg or ginger).

Strawberry Rhubarb Kuchen:  A Triolet
Liz Garton Scanlon

Recipe written in grandmother’s hand
Faithfully followed by cup and by spoon
Dough pressed to crust up the sides of the pan
Recipe written in grandmother’s hand
Warm eggy custard, fresh fruit (never canned)
Strawberries sweet and rhubarb rough-hewn
Recipe written in grandmother’s hand
Faithfully followed, will be ready soon

Now, dig into the other potluck poems. Seriously — eat up!

Sara
Tanita
Tricia
Laura

And don’t forget, it’s our very own Mary Lee, hosting the party in her backyard this week!

As for June, we’ll be writing “In the Style Of” this triptych — August, by Louise Ireland — although we’ll be leaning into summer rather than stepping out of it!! Join us?

Every year, when National Poetry Month rolls around, I recommit myself to writing daily haiku for 30 days. The first 7 to 10 days are dreamy! I feel grounded, creative, connected to other writers and readers. I think, “Why don’t I write haiku every day all year long? I love this!”

10 days to two weeks in, I buckle. I feel a little stressed. Some of my haiku are genuinely terrible. I wonder why I’ve promised to do this??? But then I carb load, catch my stride and head, clear-eyed, toward the finish.

Well, we’re there, folks. April got shorted a day, so this is it, and I’ve got to admit… I’m already a little nostalgic for the ritual of it. I’m like a mother forgetting how hard it was giving birth because look at the baby!!! Anyway, y’all… thanks for reading and writing along, and for sharing your own love of poetry in all the ways.

Joy Harjo says, “When I began to listen to poetry, it’s when I began to listen to the stones, and I began to listen to what the clouds had to say, and I began to listen to others. And I think, most importantly for all of us, then you begin to learn to listen to the soul, the soul of yourself in here, which is also the soul of everyone else.”

That’s pretty much the sum of it, I guess. Poetry is a way to listen to — a way to notice — what’s around us and who we are. It’s a way to understand we are one. It’s a deeply necessary light. Thank goodness for it.

Haiku 30, 2026

Day slips into dark.
We can leave it to the moon,
and rest till morning.

My husband maintains one of the community garden plots at the YMCA, and let me tell you — ‘tis the season over there!! The things popping up and blooming and fruiting are delicious and beautiful and absolutely count as bright little beacons of hope.

So, here’s to the mint and leeks and cherry tomatoes, and here’s to Kirk, whose birthday it is today, and here’s to whatever signs of life we may all be clinging to these days.

Haiku 29, 2026

Ruby red planets
shining through darkest matter
offer proof of life

You guys.
Owlets. Baby barred owls, three of them and their very proud parents, in a tree hollow around the corner from our house.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The neighborhood is aflutter, gathering quietly, excitedly, at dawn and dusk.
Papparazzing it up, like Beyonce moved to the neighborhood.
But, y’know. Quieter and fuzzier. But just that exciting.
The whole spectacle won’t last long. One wee baby has already moved to the upper branches. But wow, for now, they’re winning hearts and minds.

Haiku 28, 2026

From snug hidey-hole
watchful eyes assess the sky
”Will we fledge today?”

Yesterday, we drove out to a native plant sale being held on prairie land south of town. It was pretty out, and the place was crawling with folks who know SO MUCH about taproots and blossoms and varieties and runners.

On the walk back to our car, I looked into a great big thistle blossom and saw that it was crawling with folks too — of the beetle variety — and I hoped they were there to help rather than harm!

Imagine my delight to learn that they’re called Kern’s Flower Scarab — could there be a prettier name? — and that they were indeed doing the good work of pollinating. Life really looks after itself sometimes.

Haiku 27, 2026

Wallow in yellow,
enraptured flower scarab.
Then, transmit joy!

OK, and then today my other daughter did something long and hard!

When I think about humans running and how to describe it in poetry, I can’t help but picture thousands of thunderous beasts, moving across the landscape together, toward a common goal. How magnificent!

(Also, this haiku made me realize — a little tiredly but also tenderly — how close we are to the end of National Poetry Month! Thanks for coming along for the journey, friends…)

Haiku 26, 2026

This great migration
burning, beating hearts and hooves
fixed on the finish

My daughter’s doing something long and hard this weekend so I wanted to do a haiku in honor of that feat and inspired by one of the photos from the day. But then I was like, “bikes aren’t exactly endemic to the natural world!” and I went looking for metaphors.

Well. You all. Golden wheel spiders do cartwheels to roll across the landscape quickly and away from prey!! What??? Isn’t the wild world just full of absolutely brilliant and whimsical and gorgeous magic?

Haiku 25, 2026

Brave and free-ranging
like a clutter of spiders
orbing over land

I have more birthdays on my calendar in April than any other month of the year. They bridge Aries and Taurus, they arrive “babbling and strewing flowers” (E. St. Vincent Millay), they “put a spirit of youth in everything” (Wm. Shakespeare).

This month, I start a whole new year, and so does my husband. And my pals Krista and Kelly and Bernadette and Audrey and Audrey’s husband Michael. My cousins Anne and Knuckles and my beloved friend Steve and his mom Mary and my uncle DQ and… you get the idea. April brings a daily cacophony of birthdays and fresh starts and surprises and promises.

And today, my friend Sara, who’s had a hard year and really deserves the goodness this new one has to offer. We’ve only been together in person a few times, but we’ve been friends for, gosh, nearly 20 years? And have been writing poems together the whole of that time. Wow. Happy birthday, Sara. And happy birthday to the rest of my April kin and to the baby birds and buds bursting everywhere. Happy birthday.

Haiku 24, 2026
Possibility!
Pink petals layered like cake
or unread pages…

I have been writing ekphrastic haiku every day this month in celebration of National Poetry Month, so I figured I’d just keep that up today! You can read my friends’ ekphrastics here:

Tricia
Sara
Tanita
Mary Lee
Laura

And Irene Latham is hosting Poetry Friday today! Tra la! Enjoy!

You know what they say:
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
“It is the journey that matters in the end.” – Ursula Le Guin

Haiku 23, 2026

The dog’s odyssey:
he will not refuse the call!
Hero journeys on.

Well, it’s Earth Day, and it’s hard to feel wildly optimistic at the moment, what with assaults on the Minnesota Boundary Waters, the National Park System, and any effort at all addressing climate change. This morning I made the mistake of reading the comment section to a news story where half the commenters, it seemed, were complaining about how bike lanes steal space from folks in cars. (Yes, the top of my head temporarily blew off.)

But then I witnessed a surprising little avian miracle unfolding on my own front porch, reminding me of nature’s insistence. So. Yes. That’s what I’m here for.

Haiku 22, 2026

Potted plant as nest
Wren drops down to hidden clutch
through swaddling fronds