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Sheila Murphy’s poetry emerges from a life steeped in music, language, and attentive perception. With a background in vocal and flute performance, her poetic sensibility is richly informed by rhythm, structure, and sound. In Scribeworth Magazine’s inaugural issue , her poems “The Years,” “For the Fallen Lambs,” and “Snapshot” reflect the depth of her exploration into human intention, memory, and the natural world. A daily writer and lifelong learner, Murphy draws from literary and philosophical traditions while constantly pushing the boundaries of form. In this interview, she reflects on daily writing, poetic evolution, and the urgent role poetry plays in fostering new ways of seeing. 1. What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time? I loved the way teachers in high school presented poets and poetry. My early education and life were centered around music, including music theory and history. My principal instrument was the flute. I was extremely active in performance on flute and vocal music. While I had always attempted poetry and studied literature formally, it was at age 25 when my mentor emerged. We took my work to a new level, and I have been writing daily ever since. There is constant evolution, and at this moment I am engaged in ardent learning I have designed and pursue for myself.    2. How do you decide when a poem is "finished"? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it's ready to be shared? This is challenging. As a person who moves fast in everything I do, I try to slow myself down and be sure that there is internal coherence and that the poem does what I believe it needs to do. It is different for each poem. By no means formulaic.   3. How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes? I write every day. Recently, I have been rising early and allowing the half-finished dream state to inform the half-waking state. I am always listening to speech and other sounds. I am doing a lot with syllabic and word counts and formal structuring even more than before.   4. What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you? Human intention and human relationships; nature; philosophy; politics; music; art. These are part of real life. I am a rather lively and energetic person, I am told. :) 5. Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet? Chaucer, Gertrude Stein, e.e. cummings, Diane Seuss, many others. I read widely. Encouraging myself to open up and burst the seams of concision is important to me.  6. What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that? Poetry creates alternative, more real, in fact, worlds. We who adore poetry are in a position to midwife our poems into existence and allow them to do their work. In times of tyranny, crueltyand greed—all fostered by unconscious and conscious compliance—poetry is the perfect antidote. There is more work to do that far exceeds lamentation. Building new ways of seeing is imperative now.     7. What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world? Read everything you can get your hands on. Write freely. Shape and hone your work until each piece becomes necessary and reaches those who hear or read it. Sheila E. Murphy's poems have appeared in Poetry , Hanging Loose , Fortnightly Review , Social Alternatives , and many other publications. Her most recent book, Permission to Relax , was published by BlazeVOX Books in 2023. She received the Gertrude Stein Award for her collection Letters to Unfinished J.  (Green Integer Press, 2003).

Peter Appleton’s poetry stands out for its rare blend of precision, empathy, and a bold commitment to confronting the world as it is. Drawing deeply from his diverse experiences in theatre, education, and refugee advocacy—shaped by years spent living and working across different continents—his voice carries a sense of global awareness that resonates throughout his work. Now living in England, Peter channels this perspective into poems that are urgent, unflinchingly political, and profoundly human. His pieces "Azrael," "Ultima Thule," and "Kuebiko" appear in the inaugural issue of Scribeworth . In this interview, he reflects on how his creative process has evolved, what shaped his poetic voice, and why he sees poetry as a form that must continually look outward—engaging with the broader world in all its complexity. 1. What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time? I have always written poetry, having been lucky enough to grow up in a house full of books and a grandfather who recited Yeats over a whiskey after dinner. Over the years, I have wanted to write more about the world around me and less about my interior life. In this sense, I wish more poetry was political, engaged with the experience of modern life—poems about Tik Tok or migration for example. I'm not a fan of poems about how gazing into a small shell reminds you of the day your old, sick dog died when you were a kid and you were a bit sad. Get out of your own head. 2. How do you decide when a poem is "finished"? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it's ready to be shared? There comes a point when any change you make seems to make the poem worse. Keep earlier versions! I've definitely worked poems so hard they lose any spontaneity or flow. That said, I do put things away for a week and then review, then for a month and review again. I'm always amazed at what I see after time away. 3. How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes? I am a huge fan of putting aside a regular time for writing as many days as I can. If you have work and a family, then there are going to be times when you cannot write daily and you shouldn't feel guilty about that. We all make a lot of rules, so we don't have to write (because it is difficult and makes you feel vulnerable), like special pencils, notebooks, spaces and all the rest. Just write something on a thing with a thing and you have had a good writing day. 4. What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you? I like to look out into the world, imagine the stories that are behind what I encounter. I've worked with refugees and as a teacher in deprived areas and meeting that with compassion and creativity is valuable. I imagine who is telling the poem, how they would sound, the words they would use, the way they move, where their eyes are looking. 5. Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet? I have this idea that there is a succession from Blake to Whitman to Ginsberg. I love their freedom, engagement and spirituality. James Fenton has influenced me hugely with his journalistic eye. Christina Rosetti for the simplicity of her voice in the service of profound ideas. Kae Tempest for making me rethink what I'm doing. Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell influence me, though I do think song lyrics are not the same as poetry. 6. What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that? None in terms of direct influence on decision makers, nor has it ever. I doubt there are many politicians or CEOs that read a poem and fewer who let it change their mind. Often, I feel I am preaching to the choir. That said, I feel you have to keep fighting for your space artistically and socially, just don't expect to change the world. Poetry is a place to bear witness, to say the difficult thing, more for Fools than politicians. Poetry is there for those who want to feel complicated feelings, who want to build things, not break them. 7. What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world? For craft, try and write poems in the third person, even if you are really talking about yourself. Try not to preach or lecture, even when you feel passionate about an idea. Have a go at formal styles like sonnets or a villanelle. They never need to see the light of day but you are using different muscles, and it will show in your other work. As for sharing, find as much as you can in the real world, a teacher, a writing group, an open mike. Take a friend for moral support because you will be scared. Online is good, and if that is all you can find, then use it. Have fun. Find your tribe. Understand that you are essentially playing pretentious D & D. Get drunk (legally where you are) and talk shit with other writers. Try not to fall in love with them- they are as crazy as you. Accept you're never going to make any money from writing poems nor be famous and you'll be a lot happier. Take your work seriously but not yourself. Feel free to ignore advice. Peter Appleton's verse reflects his time in theatre, education and with refugees. He is interested in political poetry that reflects current events and debates. He has lived and worked in several countries. He now resides in England.

William Derge is a poet whose work is rooted in empathy, keen observation, and a lifelong love of language. His poem “ Foraging ”  is featured in the inaugural issue of Scribeworth , showcasing his gift for quiet, vivid imagery and emotional depth. A former high school teacher, William brings a deep awareness of human complexity to his writing, often exploring themes of vulnerability, isolation, and connection. Influenced by the sounds of Keats and Hopkins and the insight of contemporary voices like Kay Ryan, his poetry bridges tradition and modernity with a voice that is both grounded and resonant. We took some time to connect with William to discuss his insights about the role of poetry, his process, and his influences. 1. What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time? To quote Saul Bellow, "A writer is a reader moved to emulation." I was brought to poetry by way of a very good teacher when I was a senior in high school. In those days, we read all manner of poetry from Tennyson to Browning to e.e. cummings. Keats was my favorite, and I even memorized some of his odes. I suppose I tried to write like Keats, but of course I never got close. No matter. I was hooked. I really didn't write much poetry in college. It was only after I was drafted in the army and sent to South Korea that I started to take poetry seriously. What I continued to do, though, was to read. And read. And read. 2. How do you decide when a poem is "finished"? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it's ready to be shared? That's both a simple and a tough question. The simple answer is that at some point you absolutely know. You feel that it's right. The tough part is it can sometimes take years and a hundred revisions before you reach that feeling. At other times, you experience it immediately upon completion of the poems. I can't really say what constitutes that feeling. I think it comes with experience. When you're just starting out, you're just happy that you've actually finished a poem. But is it any good? Well, that's where your reading comes in. How does it measure up to the poems you admire? And if not, why not? 3. How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes? I've tried over the years to establish a writing routine, but I've always failed. I certainly don't recommend over-depending on the Muse, but it's the only method--or lack thereof--that works for me. If there's anything resembling a routine for me, it's the fact that whenever I write at Starbucks, I come back with some good stuff. 4. What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you? I almost never begin a poem with a theme in mind. I'm usually driven by an image or cluster of images or words. Themes emerge only after the work is done. I seem to write a lot about people who are vulnerable, introspective, lost. I also write about working people. I was a high school teacher for many years, and I think I developed a real empathy for kids who were outsiders and outcasts. I'm not a great nature writer, but I have a bunch of poems about birds. And, of course, my cats. 5. Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet? When I first began writing, it was all Keats and Gerard Manley Hopkins. I was mostly drawn to the sounds. And that aspect of poetry remains strong with me.  Later on I began reading poets like Robert Lowell, Richard Wilbur, and Howard Nemerov. They brought an element of deep thought and humanity into my work. As far as contemporary poets are concerned, I love reading Kay Ryan and Christian Wiman for their compactness and wit, and that characteristic has certainly influenced my later work. 6. What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that? W.H. Auden famously said poetry makes nothing happen, but I think he was dead wrong. I really believe that, especially these days, poetry is our prime antidote to the deterioration of language we are witnessing today: propaganda, words for gain, out and out lies. You can analyze and explain away all these things, but only poetry offers a true alternative. 7. What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world? Despite my confession that I lack a writing routine, I believe writers should write as often and as much as they can and not worry at first if it's any good. One reason is that, in time, you begin to recognize the difference between what's good and what's junk. To me, the best advice you can give to any aspiring poet is: Get out of the house. Get out of the classroom. Hit the streets. Talk to people you don't know. William Derge’s poems have appeared in Negative Capability, The Bridge, Artful Dodge, Bellingham Review, and other publications. He is the winner of the 2010 Knightsbridge Prize He is a winner of the Rainmaker Award. He has received honorable mentions in contests sponsored by The Bridge, Sow’s Ear , and New Millennium . He currently resides with his wife in Frederick, Maryland. He is a frequent reader at poetry events in the area and his a founding member of Slant Light Poets. Many of his poems deal with the joys, trials, and sorrows of relationships.

If you’re submitting your work to literary magazines, publishers, or even building your own website, you’ve probably run into this request: “Please include a brief author bio.” And if you're like most writers, you might pause and wonder—What exactly should I say? Isn’t my work supposed to speak for itself? Sure, your writing does the heavy lifting, but your bio is the bridge; it helps editors, readers, and fellow writers connect with the person behind the words. It’s your first impression, your digital handshake, and your chance to say, Hey, this is who I am and why my voice matters. Let’s talk about why a well-written bio is so important, offer some simple tips, and give you a plug-and-play template to make the process easier. 🖋️ Why Is Your Bio So Important? It Adds Context to Your Work Your background, themes, and influences can deepen a reader’s appreciation for your writing. A poem about loss reads differently when we know the writer volunteers at a hospice. It Establishes Credibility You don’t need a Pulitzer to sound professional. Just a clear, polished bio shows editors and readers that you take your craft seriously. It Builds Your Brand Over time, your bio becomes part of your identity as a writer. A consistent tone and voice—whether playful, introspective, or academic—can help you stand out. It Invites Connection Adding your website, social media, or Substack helps people follow your journey, read more of your work, and even reach out with opportunities. ✨ Tips for Writing a Great Writer Bio Keep it short and sweet. Most publications ask for 50–100 words. Aim for clarity over cleverness. Write in third person. Unless you're told otherwise, use third person for a professional tone: “Jane Doe is a fiction writer…” instead of “I write fiction…” Highlight relevant details. Include your genre(s), notable publications or awards, thematic interests, or professional background (if relevant). Mention current projects. If you’re working on a novel or running a newsletter, that can be a great addition. Include your location and link. “She lives in Portland, Oregon,” or “He writes from a tiny apartment in Chicago.” And always include a link if you’ve got a site, Instagram, or portfolio. 🧩 Sample Template Here’s a fill-in-the-blank version you can tweak for your own style and voice: [Your Name] is a [type of writer—e.g., poet, fiction writer, essayist] whose work explores [key themes or subjects]. Their writing has appeared in [name a few publications or just say “various journals and anthologies” if you're still getting started]. They are currently [mention a current project, goal, or what they’re working on]. [Your Name] lives in [City, State/Country] and shares more of their work at [website or social handle]. 🧠 Example Bio Toni Rivers is a speculative fiction writer fascinated by memory, time, and the technology of the near future. Her work has appeared in Flash Fiction Online, Luna Station Quarterly, and The Molotov Cocktail. She’s currently revising her debut novella and drinking too much cold brew in Houston, Texas. Find her at toniriverswrites.com. Whether you’re a seasoned author or a brand-new voice, your bio is a valuable piece of your literary toolkit. So take a few minutes to craft one that feels genuinely you. It might just open the door to your next publication, connection, or creative collaboration. Got questions or want help refining your bio? Drop us a line —we’re ready to help you.

SW:  Welcome to this edition of Seven Questions, where we are delighted to be joined by Joie Lesin, award-winning author of The Passenger , whose short story, " Release, " appears in our inaugural issue. She has long been fascinated by anything otherworldly including ghosts. She loves to write a good ghost story—especially when it includes a touch of romance. Originally from Massachusetts, at six years old, Joie moved to her mother’s birthplace, Minnesota. By eight, Joie lost her New England accent, however, it's gradually returning as the years go by. She grew up in Minneapolis but now resides in St. Paul with her husband and their blended family—which includes a rambunctious grand-corgi. Joie misses the ocean, but she often finds herself walking by one of Minnesota’s many lakes and travels to one of the coasts as often as she can. In fact, she considers California her home away from home. When she’s not writing, reading, or walking, you can find her listening to music. She absolutely loves music—especially live—and songs have sparked most of her story ideas. Shall we dive right into the interview? Joie:  Sure. SW:  Great! I know you're a music lover, so this first question seems fitting. If The Passenger  had a soundtrack, what would be the top three songs on the playlist, and how do they capture the essence of your story? Joie: I created a playlist for The Passenger , as I do for each of my stories. Music helps set the stage for me. It pulls me back in time—to the 1940s—and immerses me in the history. I can pick up a lot from the songs including what was important to people, the time, what and how they said it. The music is part of my research. Now to the question, the top three songs for The Passenger’s soundtrack are: `1. "Solitude" Billie Holiday 2. "Candy" Johnny Mercer, Jo Stafford 3. "It’s Been a Long, Long Time" Kitty Kallen, Henry James SW:  Those are such evocative choices. Do you ever surprise yourself with the direction your characters take? Can you share a moment in The Passenger where a character completely defied your expectations? Joie:  All the time. I am not one to plot out my stories, but I know where I’d like the story to end. I usually write the last scene and use that original ending as my guiding post. Then I write the first scene and from there set on a mission of discovery. While I puzzle the story together, I am constantly surprised by the characters. In fact, when I talk about the story, especially with my sister who comes up with the best questions, I often say, “I don’t know. She (or he) hasn’t told me yet.” One thing that surprised me while writing The Passenger was how much a part of the story Adriana Clemente became. As the story unfolded, I came to realize that it was as much Adriana and Paolo’s love story as Elizabeth and Gio’s. SW:  That’s fascinating—when characters take on lives of their own. Moving on, what’s the most unexpected source of inspiration you've ever drawn from in crafting a scene or character, and how did it manifest in your writing? Joie:  I consider everything, every experience, a potential source of inspiration. I guess you could say I expect the unexpected. It’s not that I’m always on the lookout for inspiration either. It’s more like I’m open to finding inspiration at any time or place—in the mundane or the grand event. A few summers ago, while at the Minnesota State Fair, I saw the words “Good at Bad Things” on someone’s t-shirt. From those words on that t-shirt, a character in my unreleased mermaid story came to life. SW:  It’s amazing how a simple phrase can inspire an entire character. You blend the supernatural with the deeply human in your work. In your opinion, what do supernatural elements reveal about real human emotions and experiences? Joie:  I write ghost stories. These are stories of loss on both sides—those that have passed and those they left behind. The characters in my stories have left things unfinished or unsaid like so many of us do. In The Passenger , I gave Paolo the chance to make amends to his family and pass on in peace. I gave the family he left behind a chance to say goodbye and to come to terms with his death. It is my way of saying that I believe those we've lost are never truly gone. Existence changes and they live on with us through our memories. Or in the scent of the cologne that hits us out of nowhere. And in that motion we catch out of the corner of our eye. SW:  That’s an intriguing way to explore human emotions. Now, here’s a personal one: What’s your writing kryptonite? Is there a particular scene type or story element that always challenges you, no matter how many books you write? Joie:  My writing kryptonite is not anything with my writing itself. It’s not a particular type of scene or story element, it’s actually something I haven’t talked much about before. In 2005 I had surgery to remove a rare, fast growing, non-cancerous brain tumor. It was a very traumatic time, and I was lucky to have the best care. However, once the tumor was removed, I found out the lasting effects. There are days I deal with pain in the area where the tumor once grew. I do have more good days than bad but there are times when the pain flares and I cannot think around it to write. Over the years, I have learned to take the breaks when I need them. Sometimes it slows me down or the length of the break frustrates me, but I’ve learned to pick the story back up where I left it. SW:  That must take a lot of resilience. I noticed on your website, you've published poetry alongside original photography. What inspired you to combine these two mediums? Joie:  It started with me posting my photographs on social media and wanting to share more than just a quote or brief description of the photos. It occurred to me that my photos were all of things—the ocean, birds in flight, a field of flowers—were all things that inspired my stories. It only made sense for me to combine the two mediums and use my own words.   It all began with this  picture and these words: Silent Chair In the silent solitude of dawn the empty chair calls. With a whispered exhalation I sit I think of you. SW:  That’s beautiful. Finally, what future projects do you have in the works? Joie:  My current work-in-process has the working title of Watch Over Me . This story is a stand-alone but that takes place on the Clemente Vineyard a decade and a half after The Passenger ended. Like its predecessor, Watch Over Me is a ghost story. It takes place in 1968 and tells the continuing story of Elizabeth’s daughter, Bella. First though, there are some disquieted spirits in need and a family of ghost whisperers who are ready—some reluctant—to help. SW:  Joie, thank you for sharing such wonderful insights into your writing journey. It was a pleasure having you with us. Joie:  My pleasure. SW:  To all our readers, don’t miss out on The Passenger . It’s available at all the major retailers. For more information, visit Joie at jlesin.com . About the Book: She's a 1940s ghost whisperer. He's the son of a ghost. Burdened with her empathic gift, Elizabeth Reilly wants to be free of it and fit in with normal people. Nevertheless, when the spirit of an old man asks for her help, she travels across the country to help him return home. Gio Clemente is still angry with his father who abandoned him as a child. To help the father pass on, Elizabeth must persuade Gio to let go of his anger. Though he resents her intrusion, they are both stunned to find themselves fighting a profound attraction. Elizabeth can accept his headstrong brand of love, but can Gio accept her gift—and believe in her? The Passenger, a 1940s ghost story set in the California wine country, tells a tale of family connections, life-changing choices, and love—lost and found. The Passenger is available for purchase on Amazon and at major book retailers. Publisher:   The Wild Rose Press

In our newest Scribeworth Magazine  interview, poet Lindsay Ellis , whose poem "Geometry" is featured in our inaugural issue , invites us into her world, where poetry is both delight and discovery. For her, writing isn’t about chasing recognition—it’s about deepening relationships and capturing joy. She shares how her creative process is a combination of structure and spontaneity, how writing groups keep her grounded and inspired, and why she believes poetry still has a vital role to play in a world that often resists complexity. 1. What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time? Music and poetry juice me. I think my brain literally floods itself with happiness chemicals in response to rhythm and revelatory meaning-making. Who wouldn’t want more of that? When I’m going through my day, and a concrete occurrence delights me—a raccoon walking along my window ledge, my baby daughter staring wide-eyed at me from the sling around my torso when I thought she was asleep—I sense an opportunity to amplify that pleasure by making a poem, using the tools of rhythm and imagistic comparison. 2. How do you decide when a poem is "finished"? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it's ready to be shared? Ha! A poem is “finished” in the same way that a doctoral dissertation is “finished,” when it’s (a) due and (b) good enough not to embarrass the writer. If you do an internet search for “writing is never done, it’s just due,” you find myriad versions of that sentiment attributed to everyone from Leonardo Da Vinci to Bill Condon. I actually send very few of my poems out for publication, though I share drafts shortly after I create them with a local audience—a writing group or friend who will appreciate the particular insight that I’ve tried to capture. Writing groups are invaluable for creating hours specifically devoted to sharing and listening. The primary aim of my groups is to delight one another, so we do what we can to show up at a particular time (i.e. a due date) with something of value. I revisit my collection of poems when I have time, and I revise them repeatedly to increase the rhythmic and revelatory joy that they provoke. 3. How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes? I direct a National Writing Project site, which means that I write creatively for a few hours a day for a few weeks every summer with a group of K-12 teachers. I am most productive during those weeks, poems being what I choose to draft most of the time. During the academic year, I have seasons of drafting “morning pages” daily, following the advice of Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way. Those pages keep me honest. When I have an insight that I want to communicate, often a comparison or an objective correlative that will help someone I love to understand me better or resolve a conflict, I take the time to draft a poem. I’ll share the draft and then add it to the collection of ones to tinker with over the coming years. I’m not writing to “be a poet.” I write to strengthen relationships and to give myself and others small moments of pleasure. Perhaps I should believe that publishing more poems would provide more pleasure to more people, but there are already more delightful poems circulating than I have time to read. (See question five.) 4. What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you? I think I’m not unique. At root, I write about love and grief, but those overdetermined, vague words are utterly useless to describe the experiences that flood us. How else can I manage the overwhelm without the concreteness of poetry? The poem “Geometry” in this issue ponders how a one-dimensional speck becomes a three- dimensional child existing across the fourth dimension of time and evoking the conceptual dimension of family. 5. Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet? Yes. Yes. Yes. Poets are rock stars. In college, I attended a choral adaptation of W. B. Yeats’s work, and I launch many of my classes with his poem about writing, “Adam’s Curse.” I love reading aloud lines that lean into alliteration, everything from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 to Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “God’s Grandeur.” I’m a fangirl of performance poets like Al Letson, Patricia Smith, and Sarah Kay. I’ve been delighted to see Amanda Gorman bring attention to the genre. 6. What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that? I agree with Emily Dickinson that poets “tell the truth but tell it slant.” Telling it slant allows us to circumvent the knee-jerk resistance of audiences to particular messages by laying a trail from one concrete observation to the next. This enables readers to discover their own aha of clarity. At a historical moment in which lists of conceptual terms are considered dangerous, it’s all the more vital for poets to keep it close to the bone--observing and arranging phenomena for readers’ analysis. 7. What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world? Find a writing group of humans whose lives you genuinely care about and who genuinely listen when you speak. Write for them, and send poems out to a wider audience when they remark that a phrase is particularly memorable, or when you reach a self-imposed deadline to submit your favorites. Also, read a poem a day in a journal like Scribeworth , and read the poem aloud. If you feel some joy, figure out how the writer gave you that little hit of juice, and thank them. Lindsay M. Ellis loves not only the logic of argument but also the lens of poetry tuned to the natural world. Lindsay has a Ph.D. in English and Education from the University of Michigan and an M.A. in Humanities from the University of Chicago. She is a Professor of English at Grand Valley State University where she directs the Lake Michigan Writing Project. She survives Michigan winters by capturing the sun in her wood-burning stove and feels compensated by long summer days on the white sand beaches of fly-over country.

Alina Kalontarov is a contributing writer whose poem "Beige" is featured in the inaugural issue of Scribeworth . In our latest interview, we connected with her to explore her evolving relationship with poetry—from early days of searching for identity in rhyme to embracing ambiguity, paradox, and raw human connection. She shares insights on their writing process (think bursts of inspiration scribbled anywhere and everywhere), the themes that keep calling her back to the page, and the poets who’ve shaped her voice along the way. This conversation is an intimate look at why poetry still matters and how it helps us make sense of the world—and ourselves. What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time? I’ve always been a reader and writing came naturally as an extension of that. When I was younger, I was preoccupied with fitting all these complex emotions into neatly rhymed verse, looking for answers, trying to pin down for myself some sort of identity. After college, I took a long break from writing and returned to it only recently. Maybe this is what is meant by the wisdom of age, but I’m a lot more interested in asking questions now, trying on different voices, exploring ambiguity and paradox. Poetry is no longer a playground for the ego, but a place where I can walk the fine line between catharsis and creation, solitude and connection. As an introvert and fairly private person, poetry is a bit of a hack for intimacy, allowing me to connect while hiding in plain sight. There is an undeniable, epicurean pleasure that comes from the creation of a poem as with any kind or art, for sure, but in most cases, I write as a form of exorcism, a sort of measured screaming into an abyss. I never feel guilt, regret or shame when I write, and that’s a beautiful thing. How do you decide when a poem is finished? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it’s ready to be shared? I generally have trouble with endings, in life and in writing a poem. I’ll often end a poem in a place I didn’t intend to just because the most recent line feels like it could be a really evocative question or idea, a pregnant pause. Because I lean toward being long-winded, I chip away at my poems quite a lot until I reach the bare minimum required to pack a punch. I can usually gauge that a poem is finished when it feels both familiar and unexpected at the same time, leaving the reader holding something they’re not quite sure how to put down or even if they want to - an image, a feeling, a weight of some kind. One of the things I love about poetry is how much license it has to be rude, dropping open a mouth or leaving a lump in the throat. When I’m lucky enough to achieve that effect in my own writing, that’s when I know it’s ready to be shared. How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes? I’d love to say my writing process is disciplined and intentional, but it’s anything but. Almost everything I’ve ever written has been done so in bursts and spasms. A feeling or  concept strikes, and I stop what I’m doing to jot it down, whether I’m at home, at work, driving, or at the park with my kids. I find it really hard to stare at a blank page or screen and fill it up in one sitting. Sometimes I’ll spend weeks compiling interesting images or lines, and then sit down at some unexpected moment of creative flow to weave a few of them together. The very last poem I wrote actually began with the final line, and as I was brushing my teeth one morning, I wrote the whole thing in reverse on my phone. I’m often inspired to start a poem after reading someone else’s work that left me breathless, wanting to keep that feeling going and see if I can reproduce it. I rarely finish it in one sitting, however. It percolates and evolves in my mind during the course of days, weeks or even months. As unfocused as this process may seem, I find it liberating to abandon chronology and construct something in fragments; it feels organic to me, mirrors the way we process experiences and make meaning of our lives. What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you? I cast a wide net with the themes in my writing, but I find that most of my poetry is existential in nature and is preoccupied with some iteration of either loss or longing (straight from the poet’s handbook!). I’m drawn to exploring the ineffable, the transitory nature of experience, the profundity in the mundane, the intricacies of connection, and the many nuances and contradictions involved with the human condition. Though most of my poetry is derived from a personal or imagined space, I’ve been experimenting more recently with writing from the angle of political or social commentary, trying to throw my two cents into the well. Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet? I really love the work of Pablo Neruda, Mary Oliver, Ellen Bass, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, Ada Limon, Leonard Cohen, and Joseph Fasano, to name a few. They’re all so different in their style and content, but collectively they inspire the dreaminess, melancholy, reverence, bite, honesty, humor, nuance, and irony that I aspire to in my writing. I’d like to believe that my voice as a writer is developing into a kind of mosaic or kaleidoscope of all the voices I’ve read along the way.   What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that? As interconnected as we are by every possible technological advancement, we are more isolated and pulled apart than ever. A modern day Babel, if you will. Poetry, as with any form of art, is a country with no borders, one of the few spaces where I believe we can still find a common language and some semblance of a universal truth that transcends the particularities of place, politics, or personal identity. In an age of extreme individuation, I see poetry as allowing us to get back to archetypes, to recognize ourselves in others and vice versa. We’re at a very delicate moment in history and now more than ever, we need to keep writing, keep creating, so we can maintain a pulse on our humanity. Whenever I share a poem, much like when I read one, it’s that brief but impactful communion that I seek. What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world? Read a lot.  Write a lot.  Even if it’s in fragments, even if it’s on a dinner napkin or in your Notes app while stopped at a red light. You don’t always need to write to completion or with a product in mind; start a collection of compelling lines and you’ll find a way to thread them together when the time comes. Don’t be afraid to play with language, emulate the greats, experiment with different styles until you discover your own authentic voice. Don’t be afraid to evolve even past that. Read your own work often and be your own audience: write the stuff you would want to read. Alina Kalontarov is a teacher of English literature in New York City. Poetry and photography have always been a way for her to rummage through the unspoken and unseen spaces in the world. Her work has been published in various literary magazines such as Sky Island Journal as well as anthologies, including the forthcoming Words Apart: A Globe of Poetry .

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As I sit in padmasana across from her, I can hear the oscillating breeze lick the bonsai trees outside the kitchen window. “I am light. I am love. I am enough,” she murmurs, as the orange tabby cat approaches, picks her up in its mouth, and slinks towards the litterbox. Now, only the sound of one toy’s japa.

I’m a big fan of the sitcom Leave it to Beaver (1957-63).  When I was a young kid, I used to watch reruns of the show quite often. Recently, I came to realize that the creators of the show took painstaking measures to infuse it with a wealth of aquatic symbolism and mythological references. One example of this would be coincidence, but as I dug deeper, I discovered much more. Here is what I found: What’s in a (Sur)name? 
 The family’s surname is “Cleaver.” A “cleaver” is a “heavy, broad-bladed knife or hatchet” that is used to “split or separate.” As an intransitive verb, the word “cleave” is defined as “to penetrate or pass through something, such as water or air.” Ward Cleaver: The Guardian/Separator 
 The father of the family is named “Ward,” which is defined as “the act of guarding or protecting; guardianship.” It also is defined as “the projecting ridge of a lock or keyhole that prevents the turning of a key other than the proper one.” A cleaver is also a broad-bladed knife that is used to split or to separate. The combination of these definitions fits Ward Cleaver’s — the patriarch of the family — role: He is there to protect his sons and to help them separate good from bad behavior and to instill a sense of morality in them. After all, every episode is a morality tale. Episodes range from cautionary tales that warn against everything from lying to stealing. June Cleaver has a Beaver 
 Now, onto his wife June. Her name is very close to the name of “Juno,” who in Roman mythology was the goddess of the “hearth and home.In Roman religion and mythology, she was also the wife and sister of Jupiter. She and her husband were in an incestuous marriage. The types and degrees of mythological punishments are many. So, what better punishment for this incestuous relationship is there than to have progeny that is an an aquatic rodent commonly know as Castor canadensis Kuhle —a “Beaver”?  Larry Mundello: the Cackerel 
 So, what do we make of Beaver’s pudgy sidekick, Larry Mundello? His surname is very similar in pronunciation to “mendole,” which is also known as a “cackerel,” which is a word of Old French origins. The dictionary definition of “cackerel” is “a small worthless Mediterranean fish considered poisonous by the ancients.” Again, the aquatic reference is evident. Saying that Larry is worthless and poisonous may be a little harsh. But after all, in one episode, he does manage to goad Beaver into smoking coffee grounds in Ward Cleaver’s collectible, ivory pipe, which leads to the development of Beaver’s monumental stomach ache. Larry’s companionship is, in a larger sense, worthless and poisonous to Beaver’s moral and ethical growth.  Hubert ‘Whitey’ Whitney: Merlangus Merlangus 
 Another of Beaver’s recurring friends in the television series is Hubert “Whitey” Whitney. He is always referred to by his nickname “Whitey,” which is unmistakably a reference to the common name of the Merlangus merlangus , the “whiting,” which is a fish that is related to cod that is indigenous to the European Atlantic waters.  Gilbert Bates: Another Fishy Friend 
 Another of Beaver’s playmates is Gilbert Bates. The aquatic reference is quite obvious. The first three letters of his first name are “gil,” one letter short of the word “gill,” which is defined as “the respiratory organ of most aquatic animals that breathe water to obtain oxygen, consisting of a filamentous structure of vascular membranes across which dissolved gases are exchanged.” To find the relevant significance of his last name, we need to look no further than it’s homonym, “baits,” which means “to place a lure in (a trap) or on (a fishing hook).” The definition of “bait” is “an enticement; a temptation.” Even though Whitey was a minor ensemble character, he did manage to become a voice against reason during several of Beaver’s moral conundrums, which “baited” Beaver into making unwise decisions. Tooey: The Enabler 
 Child actor Tiger Fafara played another of Beaver’s friends in various episodes of the show. His name is derived from the word “tew,” which in provincial English is defined as “rope or chain for towing a boat; also, a cord; a string.” Again, the aquatic reference is seen. Even though Tooey was a minor character in sporadic episodes, he did, when present, manage to “tow” Beaver and his friends toward treacherous waters as an enabler. The Ward/Beaver Dynamic 
 So, now we have a Beaver (an aquatic rodent) who gets into all sorts of predicaments that are presented as tests of his moral fortitude, his sense of ethics, and common sense. Whenever he faces one of these tests, or learning experiences, it is his father, who protects him (as a “ward”) from harm and provides lecturing sessions at the end of each episode in which he helps his sons to differentiate (“cleave”) between right and wrong, in an effort to ensure that Beaver makes the “proper” choice if faced with a similar situation in the future. Wally Cleaver: Sander Vitreus? 
In keeping with the aquatic analogy, Beaver’s sibling, Wally, is also an aquatic creature. His name is quite similar in pronunciation to “walleye,” which is a freshwater food and game fish also known as Sander Vitreus.   Clarence ‘Lumpy’ Rutherford: Cyclopterus Lumpus 
If we were to search for an aquatic reference for Wally Cleaver’s husky, and slightly dopey friend, Clarence Rutheford, we need only to look at his nickname: “Lumpy.” This nickname can then be seen as a reference to another aquatic creature, the lumpfish, which, by dictionary definition, is “a clumsy soft thick-bodied northern Atlantic fish,” also known as Clyclopterus Lumpus. Edward “Eddie” Haskell: The Contrarian 
So what should we make of Wally Cleaver’s mischievous friend Eddie Haskell? He seems to always encourage both of the Cleaver boys to engage in activities that are contrary to the teachings of their father, Ward. Speaking aquatically, what is an “eddy”? It is, by definition, it is “a current, as of water, moving contrary to the direction of the main current.” This definition fits his character precisely. After all, young Mr. Haskell does, by his very nature, introduce an anti-establishmentarian attitude or “contrary” views and encouragement that the Cleaver boys must try to resist (but seldom do). His influence runs counter to the sense of morals and ethics that Ward Cleaver tries to instill in Beaver and Wally. The Evolutionary Process: Shedding Marine Vestiges 
At this point, we can introduce a bit of Darwinian theory. This is to say that all of the children of Mayfield are on an evolutionary path of sorts. Through the trials and tribulations of their youth, they are expected to evolve morally and ethically. This process can also be likened to the time when fish and other aquatic creatures crawled onto land, terra firma. The educational institution, the Mayfield School, that all of the children attended, there was a process for holding them in place, while providing guidance for them to shed their aquatic features and to evolve into land dwellers. Outside of their respective family settings, they received assistance from their school. Mayfield, which, when analyzed alludes to “may,” which is a noun that means “the springtime of life; youth.” The children of Mayfield are, in a sense, undergoing an evolutionary process during the “springtime” of their youth. Miss Canfield: To Teach and to Contain 
The actress, Diane Brewster appeared early in the show for the first two seasons, from 1957-1958, as Miss Canfield. Her last name is a compound word. The first component of her last name is “can.” When we look at the etymology, we find that the word “can” originates from the Middle English word “canne,” which is “a water container.”  In addition to the aquatic reference, there is the realization that, as the teacher of Beaver and friends, her role was, two-fold: to “contain” and to educate them. She was responsible for their intellectual, moral, and ethical growth in the context of the educational institution, and she provided the proper environment (“aquatic”) for them to thrive and to grow. Mrs. Landers: The Evolutionary Siren 
Sue Randall was the actress who played Mrs. Landers from 1958-62, the successor of Mrs. Canfield, in the previous seasons. If we look at her surname, we can see that it describes her role in the children’s lives. A “lander” is “one who brings something (or someone) to land.” In the children’s later years, she serves as the force that promotes their evolution into a higher order of “land-dwelling” creatures. Principal Rayburn: It Felt Good to Burn 
At the Mayfield school, there was also the matronly principal, Cornelia Rayburn, played by actress Doris Packer. She served as a beacon of righteousness in the education of Beaver, Wally, and the children of Mayfield. Her role was also to help them along the evolutionary journey by enabling them to become “land-dwelling” creatures. An analysis of her surname provides clear proof when dissected. The first part of her surname, “ray” is a noun that is defined as “any of various marine fishes of the order Rajiformes or Batoidei, having cartilaginous skeletons, horizontally flattened bodies, and narrow tails.” In addition to this obvious aquatic reference, we must also consider the zoological definition of the word “ray,” which is “one of the bony spines supporting the membrane of a fish’s fin.” When paired with the second half of her surname, “burn,” it becomes clear. “Burn” is a verb that means “to dispel; dissipate” as in The sun burned off the fog. When we consider both parts of her surname, it is evident that her role is to “dispel” or to “dissipate” the “bony spines supporting the membrane” of the children’s “fins,” thus preparing them as land-dwelling creatures that would have no need for such anatomical accoutrements. Obvious Undercurrent 
 This analysis of Leave it to Beaver is designed to show that the elements that are seemingly created randomly in the making of a show are not so random. In this instance, it is evident that the creators of this sitcom intentionally embedded allusions and symbolism that are far more sophisticated than the simplistic veneer of this television show would suggest. Leave it to Beaver, in all of its benignancy, is much more than a middle-brow television show, but rather an intellectual confluence of aquatic and evolutionary analogy that springs from a foundation of mythology. SOURCE: Leggs, Michael. “All the Symbolism You Never Knew Existed in Leave It to Beaver (and There’s a Lot of It).” Thought Catalog , 5 Apr. 2014, thought.is/all-the-symbolism-you-never-knew-existed-in-leave-it-to-beaver-and-theres-a-lot-of-it/ .

I love ketchup. I like to have French fries (or freedom fries, if you insist) with my ketchup. I like to squeeze a pool of ketchup into a huge bowl in which my French fries can frolic. The French fries have told me that they appreciate picnics with their French fry families by the ketchup pool, but have asked me to stop consuming them and their relatives. Of course, I listen to each generation of the French fry families, and have taken their grievances to heart. I have since posted a sign on the ketchup swimming pool that reads: After swimming, please shower to remove all ketchup, or risk being consumed by the management.   Many French fries did not seem to heed the sign, and were consumed. I soon realized that French fries can't read, but that they do pass down an oral history from generation to generation. In French fry folklore, I am known as the dualistic deity, the creator/destroyer "Mr. Choppers." I am a true believer that no French fry should be left behind when it comes to education. So, I have started a school called "Mr. Choppers' Holy French Fry English Literacy Immersion School" to ensure that they can read the signs posted on the ketchup swimming pool. After immersing themselves in the English language, they can read the sign, and make an educated decision as to whether they want to immerse themselves in ketchup without showering afterward.I know. I know. My efforts in French fry literacy make about as much sense as tobacco companies running PSA's telling people not to smoke. . . but, what the heck. It's tough love. I only eat them because I love them, and I want them to learn. I get a really warm, fuzzy feeling and believe that everything is worthwhile if just one French fry learns from another French fry's mistake. Plus, I work up quite an appetite running that French fry school. Who cares if I eat the stupid ones?

I see Minnesota nice in the middle of Frogtown on Saturday night when I hail a Green & White cab on University Avenue, and dodge high hookers riffling ghetto rolls   when the Spaghetti Junction crush of cars loosens on I-94, finally lets me slide through a sunshine traffic jam —a celebrity walleye swimming uptown bound to sizzle in some skillet before I die when the Dorothy Day contingent eats after-bar omelets, pancakes, and hash browns in starvation dreams hunkered in booths at Mickey’s Diner with the slumming Summit Avenue elite. I see Minnesota nice coursing the skyway’s hardened arteries pushing polar winds while I spiral my way down to the city’s core. [Originally appeared in Advance the Engine Summer - Michael Leggs. Gull Island Press, 2008.]