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Green Tables …the first nine years a poetry anthology grown from a meeting of minds and spirits nourished by friendship Bonnie Schupp, Editor Judy Bender, Illustrator Published by Lulu www.lulu.com

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An anthology of a group of Annapolis poets

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Page 1: Poets of the Green Tables

Green Tables …the first nine years

a poetry anthology grown from a meeting of minds and spirits

nourished by friendship

Bonnie Schupp, Editor Judy Bender, Illustrator

Published by Lulu

www.lulu.com

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Green Tables. . . The First Nine Years

© 2006 Poets of the Green Tables

Annapolis, Maryland

All rights reserved by the Poets of the Green Tables. For permission to reprint these poems, contact:

Bonnie J. Schupp

PO Boc 1152 Pasadena, MD 21123-1152

[email protected]

Cover design by Bonnie J. Schupp

Special thanks to Barnes & Noble in Annapolis

for providing a space for our creative networking.

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The Poets of the Green Tables dedicate our book

to the memory of Sandy Klein, fellow poet and

friend, who was killed in an automobile accident

on November 27, 2004, on the way home from

her family’s Thanksgiving celebration.

We picture her always in her own words,

“rushing toward warmth, toward sun.”

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Spring Wind

spring is here

I can tell my nostrils fill

with sweet scents new cut green grass

cherry blossoms & lilacs sweet fragrance permeating

warm blossom laden currents drifting like spring snowfalls

shades of white blushing to pink cool spring-green blades push up

rushing toward warmth toward sun bright yellow polka dots abound against the lush green cool carpet

an occasional transparent puff bursting then floating

with the wind warm spring

wind

Sandy Klein

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Table of Contents

In troduct ion……………………..…………………….…11

We Played Together by Bonnie Schupp..……………...……13

I. The distance between the maple and holly

Ruler by Susan Strok……………………….………………17

Dogwood by Sibylle Sampson…………………….……….19

Sketch by Elizabeth McWethey……………….………….. 21

My Orange-colored Lily by Ruth P. Schultz……..…..……23

White and Black by Janet Foy …….……….………..…….25

One-Third Gone by Joe Carr…….….……………..……….27

Water by Doris Dunker…………….….……..…………….29

Calm Evening by Sibylle Sampson ………………………..31

Off Samos by Joe Carr…….…….……………..…………..33

5 x 6 by Janet Foy……….…….……………..…………….35

Spirit of Life by A. K. Solarz…..……………….………….37

II. I’m an octopus caught in a fan

Tied to be Fit by Neal B. Schlosburg………………………41

Confusing Plurals by Doris Dunker………………………..43

Poetry Class by Susan Strok……………………………….45

Creation Trios by Burt Dall………………………………..47

Dream by Shirley Brewer………………...………………..49

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III. I taught her how to plant her seed

Lena by Elizabeth McWethey………………………………53

My Reading Tree by A. K. Solarz………………………….55

A Joy to Behold by Neal B. Schlosburg……………………57

Message to a Pickpocket by Shirley Brewer………………. 59

Who Needs Algebra II? by Judy Bender……………………61

The Lacemaker by Natalie Lobe…………………………….63

Bandit by Burt Dall…......................………………………..65

And There Were Two Others by Ruth P. Schultz……......…67

IV. In the end we are transformed

Quantum by Natalie Lobe…………………………………..71

Unfinished by Judy Bender…………………………………73

Transformations by Bonnie Schupp……………………….. 75

About the Poets………………………………………….….......…77

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Introduction

It was not about each other and yet it was. Nine years we met monthly and conjured up the genie that first seemed merely smoke and then began to take shape as poetry.

Professor Donald Richardson at Anne Arundel Community College brought us together in his course for novice poets. Nourished thus, is it any wonder that in 1997 we became the Poets of the Green Tables at the Barnes and Noble café in Annapolis, Maryland?

Some of our poets have come and gone, usually with reluctance, leaving their work and part of themselves behind with affectionate memories and only a partly closed door.

The genie brought us together with special magic and tied us together under this one cover with one another’s poetry, shared inspiration yet individual points of view. Read and enjoy. Green Table Poets

2006

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We played together—

every month with coffee whiffs surrounding the smooth green field where we tossed our creations into the circle. We played together— chasing words across pages pursuing poetry shoving words out of line inviting others to join the rhyme from time to time. We played together— juggling sounds and meanings weaving in and out of ideas alliterating among similes transforming starched syllables into galloping metaphors. We played together— each dancing different steps affirmed by teammates gently suggesting a high kick or swivel to improve the rhythm. We joined together— sharing more than words gaining more than points learning more than skills finding ourselves.

Bonnie Schupp

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I.

The distance between the maple and holly

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Ruler

The ruler lay across the window ledge as if to measure the sky, the distance between the maple and holly, the space of blue threading through the clouds. Its silver strip flashed at the sun, challenging its rule over the earth, mocking its tiny, distant diameter. Too rigid, too precise, too arrogant to understand the real nature of space. It dreamed at night below the magic moon that it could calculate the tick of time, determine the answer to the equation of love, draw a straight line from here to infinity. With random regularity, it fantasized a perfect world of exact equality, where it was sovereign…more than man, where it could regulate a human heartbeat. The ruler stretched its full linear length, calculated the angle of the sun to the earth, then regrettably reached the conclusion that there was no fantastic formula to lay out a neatly organized world. With a dismay equal to the sum of its desire, it deduced the truth – its reach was limited to a span of 18 inches.

Susan Strok

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Dogwood

All winter long buds protected anxiously,

Held in a tight fist as greed guards treasure Until this morning.

Until the sun teased out your blossoms

They are like green pincushions. But oh, the dazzling light of your bracts.

That glowing whiteness, shout it to the winds,

Throw it into the blue sky of spring, Spill it over my eyes and into my heart

It was such a long, hard winter.

Sibylle Sampson

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Sketch

How long has it been? How long has the practice of wings taught the hummingbird to balance the exact equation hovering before the breeze-blown cardinal flower for the sweetness that sustains its tiny frame? so small a statement what does it mean? iridescent, green… Good things come in small packages it seems. Here a simple truth in wings.

Elizabeth McWethey

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My orange-colored lily, a reverie

My breakfast time is study time, a dreaming time, for me— I love this time of wondering, in quiet reverie. My eyes behold a lily in its pretty Lenox vase. I’d love to draw its beauty, study lines, and all its grace. The stamens are so delicate the pistil too is strong, but how should I, with paints in hand, put all its essence down? The many orangish petals reach out like arms outflung to greet the Monday morning, a new day’s joy begun. I smile, I squint, I ponder, as now my eyes can see freckled noses, freckled faces, children playing at the sea. To dream a bit, a quiet time, before day’s duties call— it can be quite an ecstasy. Not very hard at all.

Ruth P. Schultz

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White and Black

The white eyed moon glared across the sea

glared cold, glared round

across a black rabid sea that bubbled that hissed

that raged towards shore; white bearded knuckles

on black clad fists.

Janet Foy

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One-third Gone:

By calendars, By passing stars, Winter’s one-third gone. Skim ice is formed In cold, rich light. Glazing bright, Earth will thaw. Winds run raw. Each bud’s arrayed; Spring’s waylaid.

Joe Carr

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Water

According to the dictionary

water is quite ordinary has no odor, taste or color

what on earth could seem much duller?

Yet the tiniest drop can be touched with magic— you can see

imprisoned in the morning dew a ray of sunlight sparkling through.

A puddle is a magic thing, mirror of the sky in spring

with fragrant blossom petals float within a shining shallow moat.

The rushing roaring waterfall

never ceases to enthrall making rainbows out of light

in its heedless headlong flight.

A wintry stream keeps on the run as if a prize were to be won

although the snow has tried its best to smother it and make it rest.

Plain by simple definition water knows no inhibition in its varied moods we see

endless versatility!

Doris Dunker

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Calm evening

Yet the flickering candle

Disagrees

Black clouds Before the sinking sun

A burning fire

Hibiscus buds Bleeding crimson red

On virgin snow

So intense Through a narrow crack

Sunlight slipping

Clear spring I want to wash my face

Bathe my soul

Knotty problems Caught in spider webs

Like autumn leaves

Sibylle Sampson

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Off Samos

Across an olive grove at break of day, Down a hillside covered with such grass… So thick, and wet, and new, you’d think the bay Had overtopped the bulwark rocks to mass These heights with emeralds and amethysts… I passed, and of a sudden, saw red and gold Dawn rebounding fire off Samos’s breasts. Samos! Full two leagues distant, island hold Of legend and philosophy! “O, Samos…” then, Screeching, loud, long, and winding way behind me, Swerved far into dark hills. Next, the din Of barking shocked deaf the rocks. Yet, to see Samos a-glitter in early springtime light Brought Homer, Troy, and Pericles, as well, to sight.

Joe Carr

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5X6

I keep it in a box

under the day bed and let it out at midnight during the owl’s chorus to entertain the moon.

I let it out—only

while the moths are flying from scented pale petal

to scented pale petal where they dabble in gold.

Yes, then and only then

do I dare let it loose in the ebony air

like a sensual mist my violet orange giggle

in the night.

Janet Foy

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Spirit of Life

I am part of the flower that grows in the Spring. I am part of the soaring bird on wing. I am part of the child laughing in the rain. I am part of the tear drop when one feels pain. My name is on every leaf that grows each spring. My love touches the breath of each living thing. I am part of the breeze that whispers my name.

A. K. Solarz

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I’m an octopus caught in a fan

II

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Tied to be Fit

Sleek shiny like a new Ferrari, my suit hangs Hues of charcoal, equipped for fate On go the pants, pressed for action. Sky pale my shirt, waits for my ready White collar redolent of clouds on new spring day Buttoned to a tee, starched for living. A green one, a blue one, a red one Perhaps a striped one would sing A fuchsia tie dye must work… Hues of charcoal, Collar of ivory, Tie of onyx Yes! Under, around, over and through No, that won’t do. Around, over, under Up and through, over under again Oh I feel like a pretzel. Over, under and over once more Around, under and over again Yikes I'm an octopus caught in a fan. Under and over top, through the loop we go Tighten, pull it through … Sooo, that's what it looks like when One pant leg is higher than the other The back tie is looooongerrrrr than the front! No, that won’t do. Left goes click Right snaps tight A silver bow tie, perfect!

Neal B. Schlosburg

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Confusing Plurals

I’ve always known about the goose That two or more of them are geese I’ve never known about the moose Are great big herds of them called meese? And what about the sly mongoose Are pairs of them mongooses? Should one decide to just hang loose And call them what one chooses? Just to set the record straight I sought my dictionary To check each critter plus his mate On how their plurals vary. Geese is the word for goose with goose And pairs of moose are still called moose. Mongooses is the proper use For any more than one mongoose. Now when I see them, two by two On a pond, in the woods, or at the zoo I’ll call them by their proper names Instead of playing guessing games.

Doris Dunker

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Poetry Class

Striding into the room, he dropped his briefcase on the desk. “Have you ever met a phor?” he enquired of the class.

Silence began to mushroom. No student felt up to the task… ignorant of what it was—or what for, wondering if the grade was fail or pass. Finally, one student gathered her nerve to sheepishly ask for an explanation of the meaning of phor and also its use. Hushed, the class waited for the pro to explain. All around the room the prof could observe he had created a fertile situation. Clearing his throat, he began to choose words carefully to be obvious and plain. I am planting, he began, a seed here, dropping it in the rich loam of your mind where within the next few minutes it should germinate, sprout, shoot up and blossom.

Warm it with a smile, water it with a tear, and very soon you will certainly find that you have indeed grown a phor in all its beauty, nuance and subtlety. Awesome. Thank you they said as their hair turned green. We all understand exactly what you mean. The prof nodded, grabbed his case and headed for the door. now, he smiled, you all can say that you have met-a-phor.

Susan Strok

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CREATION TRIOS

(“Have I not said…ye are Gods”…you are both the Creator and the Created.”) Mendelssohn composed his E Minor violin concerto in 1844 for Ferdinand David, his concertmaster and new owner of a masterpiece fiddle crafted by Guarneri in 1740. Three men and a piece of wood. Jascha Heifitz, the last owner, must have played Mendelssohn’s composition on Guarneri’s instrument often, in concerts, and in studios, well past the 1940s. Three men and piece of wood. Now, Gil Shaham performs Mendelssohn’s great music on the 265-year-old Guarneri, sounding like all three were destined to collaborate, in perfect sync, from the beginning of time. Three men and a piece of wood.

Burt Dall

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Dream

I have a dinner date with Richard Gere, and wouldn’t you know I am wearing my Donna Karan pajamas size twelve shrunk to a size eight after two washes. Late for my rendezvous—I’d spent hours curling my lashes and no time to dress. I grab my faux leopard coat from the closet, remembering later it was July, the sun a lemon bruise in a brutal hot sky and my Toyota Corolla won’t start, so I hail the taxi from hell with a driver who speaks only Portuguese. Well, why wouldn’t he take me to the airport? Everyone in leopard goes to the airport. My poor darling Richard biting his nails, worried he won’t see me again. Have we met before? It isn’t clear. With the help of a Portuguese interpreter dropped onto the roof of the taxicab, I arrive at last at Chez Pierre. No place to park, I leave the cab door open and rush to my Richard, fling open my coat to greet the source of my flourishing lust. Suddenly I hear a sibilant exhale from Richard’s luscious lips, those sexy little sausages I long to suck, oh shucks, he’s staring at my pajamas. I forgot to shave my legs. No earrings, I used them for taxi fare. Richard is walking away. Wait… he turns, opens his coat. He’s wearing Donna Karan boxer shorts. We kiss in a swirl of Cashmere Lustre Mist, that seductive scene by Donna the designer who brought us together. Oh, Donna, we feel your presence. We’ll name our wardrobe closets after you.

Shirley J. Brewer

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III.

I taught her how to plant her seed

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Lena

Lena Kloski and I were neighbor wives Been fifty years or more since then. There were her eight and my two livin’ side by side We always brought their tussles to a good end. The long hill was empty of houses, Just had the seasons rinsing over them And our two farms locking arms in flowers; Not even a fence post in between. You see, there wasn’t any need, She taught me how the Polish cook; I taught her how to plant her seed. How did Lena Kloski look? Same as a needle in the hay You lost her in a crowd. Across the hills, alone, she had a way Of growing tall and single-proud; Her back was straight as only an oak would know. When we moved closer to the mills she cried all day. I couldn’t cry. It’s not my way. Again and again I think of Lena, Me What love and friendship was meant to be.

Elizabeth McWethey

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My Reading Tree

As a child I would Read my book in a tree Among leafy branches That sheltered me. Away from the world Down below Its hustle, its busy To and Fro. In my tree between Branches firm I could live and dream Each page in turn. Milne, Wilder, Swift, Each book a friend From sunlit morning To daylight’s end. it’s a childhood memory I hold most dear My own special tree – A book held near.

A. K. Solarz

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A Joy to Behold

A ray of golden daylight breaks over a wave of fear. A rising song overflowing with optimism rides atop the tides of pain. A stroke of peaceful calm caresses the shores of misgiving. A tranquil vessel sets sail in the oceans of uncertainty.

This fair-haired ship illuminates the dim corners of my mind. She sings dazzling songs of laughter that ease my aches and trepidations. Her warmth sifts through the sands of my soul tender stillness flows throughout me. She sets sail upon the shores of my being giving hope and love and fellowship.

She, who I call friend is a joy to behold. She, who I name comrade, is an encouragement in my turbulent days. She, who I call ally, shows me what is genuine within the depths of my humanity. She, who I name sister, shows me what is possible in the journey of my life.

Neal B. Schlosburg

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Message to a Pickpocket

You robbed me in a holy place, Westminster Abbey, stop number seven on the Original Bus Tour of London. Looking up in the House of Kings halfway between Edward the First and Henry the Third, I thought I was safe. In the presence of monarchs I forgot about the mundane— monitoring my zippered purse. If you had lingered, I might have asked you to join me in a moment of quiet reflection, suggested in the Abbey leaflet. I might also have kicked parts of your anatomy, and dubbed you Sir Asshole. You stole my credit cards, all of my cash. I want you to know the crime you committed did not have a victim. You buried my past, crowned a new me. I make light of paper losses, and savor the mustard moon that floats for free, over Trafalgar Square.

Shirley J. Brewer

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Who needs Algebra II?

He struggles to survive the hardwood desk with y=3r+x another day unable to grasp remember afraid of the recognition of a nobody lost in the competition one nothing I equal zero he cries on the way home. Until the night up on stage in the spotlight dancing with surety grace and ease never a mistake movements flowing and complex controlled, expressing joy and warmth and confidence he sings in tones of resonance believer of the axioms in words of love and certainty. A star, skilled and honed to perfection the audience applaud as they watch him and envy him and hope for him.

Judy Bender

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The Lacemaker

Bobbins dance to her fingers twisting threads, two by two, outside to inside, inside to out. And the hours pass into diamonds circles, hearts, zigzags. Lines and knots join like hands until you can no longer find a single strand of thread. Through the windows of her filigree You can see the sky—blue-red at sunrise, gray-gold at dusk. Though her fingers are numb the lace maker's work is finished. She holds in her hands for all to see, her network of resolve

pliant as a windsock, strong as love.

Natalie Lobe

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BANDIT

That’s her moniker and it fits. She’s been casing my joint on the look for a hideout for two weeks. Stealthy, watching my every move. Lawless, not aloof or disdainful, not treacherous except to the dead foliage in the long L-shaped brick planter that surrounds the southwest corner out of sight of traffic on the street. Not sly or devious, but obvious in her body language and movements which show intentions to search the layout, above, below, all around, in and out of every room, any closet she can break into. Squeals on me if her grub’s not on time. About twice a day she drops in on the litter box.

Burt Dall

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There were two others

Did you ever think that there could be Some little surprises In Bible history? We have the story of one fine day When James and John the fishermen Went in their boat with three young men. The story says that on that day Two others joined them. Just who were they? I think that they were two fine girls Who went along to talk with “Dad” And spend the day with special friends. Or else the John who wrote this all Could not remember names too well And had a senior moment.

Ruth P. Schultz

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IV.

In the end we are transformed…

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Quantum

Quantum theory goes like this: probability rules the universe— I get it, life is a crap shoot. Give it a roll and you win or you lose. One guy’s a genius and football star his brother’s in the loony bin. One has a “Jag” and girlfriends galore. Another rides buses, has warts. Your mom gets cancer at age fifty-three, your sister takes off in the pale of the moon, your big graduation but Dad doesn’t come. The quantum momentum is on. If you don’t take to quantum and feel like Job try faith in the wisdom of God. Maybe Allah, Buddha, Jesus or Zeus whatever can better your odds.

Natalie Lobe

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Unfinished

Presto! They say it all started with one big bang, an appropriate beginning to this piece of work! But then what follows the first huge chord? That magnificent whole descends into dissonant parts, Each player vying for survival and dominance. I hear that the string sections glissandoed in perfect harmony, only to be beaten down by percussive strikes from sticks and snares and heavy metal. Big bassoons overpowered the delicate bells, and one day the flute tried to speak its voice when a trumpet interrupted, and that was the end of the flute. Sharps and double sharps thrust with constant takeover from gentle, hesitant and contemplative flats. Once in a while, about the third movement, players came together hoping to obtain harmony to find the theme, the common melody, but they could never seem to play in unison. For just as a peaceful largo begins, invading voices here and there turn the majors into minors, turn the masterpiece to despair. Will our grand unfinished song skip the promising allegro ending much as we began with one big BANG?

Judy Bender

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Transformations

I offer you my poem a blanket with soft hills and valleys to nestle near your body You take my gift fashion a hat strut about seeking admiration Who can say what the poem is I am no more right than you It is what it is to the giver and receiver perhaps all the more precious because it shifts shapes I give you my love which becomes what you make of it Together, let’s parade your hat by day and unfold it by night to wrap around us In the end we are transformed

Bonnie J. Schupp

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About the Poets

udy Bender, jack of all trades, master of none, with a taste for the serious and bites of the fun, tries to make sense of a

star we have tarnished before we awaken to find it has vanished.

J

hirley Brewer, founder of the Poets of the Green Tables, is a Glitter Goddess and Accessorizer who earned a Master

of Arts degree in Creative Writing/Publishing Arts from the University of Baltimore in 2005. An award-winning poet, Shirley teaches writing at the University of Baltimore. Her definition of shame is a bare wrist.

S

oe Carr—artist, traveler and teacher—paints portraits of people, their houses and pets. He lives in Richmond.

oris Dunker enjoys writing light verse. She grew up in Baltimore, absorbing all poetry from ancient to modern,

but her favorite poet was Ogden Nash. She loves music and dancing and appreciates rhythm and rhyme in the style of Cole Porter whose lyrics are pure poesy. She finds her versatile poet friends inspiring.

J D

anet Foy was born and raised in Washington, D.C. after living in Sydney, Australia, moved to Annapolis 25 years

ago. She and her husband of 40 years have recently moved to Citrus County, Florida. They return regularly to Maryland.

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atalie Lobe's poems have appeared in the GW Literary Review, Ekphrasis, Blue Unicorn, and others. She is a

Poet in the Schools with the Maryland State Arts Council and holds poetry workshops at Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts. Ms Lobe's poetry collection, Connected Voices, is due for publication this year.

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lizabeth McWethey, retired children’s librarian and college teacher, has won awards from the Virginia Poetry

Society. Her life has been one of connect, disconnect and reconnect with many rewards.Writing, especially poetry, lets her know where she has been, what she has done, and who she met along the way.

E

ibylle Sampson’s early poetry was written in Germany. She emigrated to the United States in the 1950’s, worked

as a translator, married and started her career at the University of Maryland. Now retired, she volunteers at the William Paca House and Historic London Town. Her poetry collection, A Poetic Walk Through Historic London Town has recently been published.

S

urt Dall, senior citizen has taken poetry courses at Anne Arundel Community college. He’s now in study with Ted

Kooser’s “The Poetry Home Repair Manual” and Frances Mayes’s “The Discovery of Poetry.” He is a PSOP (Perennial Student of Poetry).

B

eal Schlosburg’s heart was born, it is told, during the second age deep in the woodland of Lothlórien and his

soul resides within the Golden Hall in Edoras. The sea of the Grey Havens beckons evermore.

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uth Schultz is a piano teacher, and, as a minister’s wife

the Bfor 54 years, has served churches in Buffalo, Baltimore, ahamas, Kennebunk and Pittsburgh, and now lives in

Annapolis. She discovered the fun in writing and sharing poetry in her retirement years.

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onnie Schupp—Doctor of Communications Design, teacher, photographer, wife, mother, motorcyclist,

skydiver, Fulbright teacher, newspaper columnist, camera shop owner, Renaissance Woman —has worn many hats during her life. She doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up. But then, why grow up?

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ndrew Solarz received his PhD from the University of

of CaIllinois in 1955 and taught phychology at the University lifornia where he became an expert on canine behavior.

After retiring as an administrative scientist for the government, he developed methods for training beagles to detect termites. His firm, Beacon Dogs Inc., has proovided some 50 dogs to the pest control industry.

A

praiSusan Helen Strok is a visual Artist with a studio in

Boulder, Colorado, a land of big sky, mountains, open ries, and Creatives everywhere. Poetry is painting with

words. She began wordpainting in Annapolis, MD as a charter member of the awesome Green Tables Poets - which she misses greatly. Poetry soothes the soul...or does it rock it?! Acknowledgements: "The Lace Maker," Ekphrasis, Sacramento, CA, 2005 Judy Bender, Illustrator Bonnie J. Schupp, Editor

Special thanks to Shirley Brewer and Elizabeth McWethey

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