Ruth at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town is hosting this week and I'm excited as we might actually get to commented on each other's blogs. She's writing about fireflies, one of my favorite insects. I subbed in my friend's class on Wednesday for the last time this year. It started with flowers waiting for me and then a field day which was brilliant. Yesterday, I spent the day planting flowers whose roots needed to be free of their tiny containers. I was able to spend time on the deck and set summer goals. Summertime dance daily read daily write daily water time napping time dreaming time moon gazing star gazing summertime ©jone rush macculloch, draft, 2025
Last Friday, Joan Kwon, Glass, had a tribute to my friend, Beth Brody. She featured one of Beth's poems along with one of her poems and provided prompts. Please go and read Beth's stunning poem, "The Table We Once Met".
Paul Gurcan, Irish poet, died at 80 in May.
A friend and former co-worker sent this article to me. I went down a rabbit hold about him as he was new to me. He was categorized as Ireland's spirit and sorrow's poet. I found this YouTube video in which he read from his poems that he wrote in collaboration with the paintings at the Toledo Museum of Art. Here's an article about his visit.. Michelle at More Art 4 All is hosting Poetry Friday. The last one for 2024! How can that be? The Poetry Sisters December Challenge to write a Haibun. The Poetry Sisters, Tanita, Laura, Mary Lee, Liz, Sara, Tricia, and Kelly have haibuns for your reading enjoyment.  The universe gained another star this week. I love glimmering stars but honestly, I think there have been enough people to reach the stars this year. I don’t remember if it was the Highlights Foundation or Georgia Heard’s workshop during Covid in which I met Beth Brody. Something connected with us and I had the good fortune to talk poetry, take more workshops, and share poetry for feedback with her over the last five to six years. This past year a quartet of us had met via Zoom to talk poetry about every six weeks. It was apparent that Beth was struggling with an undetermined health issue. This fall, the diagnosis of lymphoma was given and Beth was on her way with chemotherapy treatments. In my text over the weekend, we talked about a David Baker class that she’d signed for and the importance of not overdoing. So it was a shock to hear from her dear husband, Bob, that she had passed away on Monday. I will miss her. She was the queen of poetry punctuation and line breaks. I learned so much from her. She was so encouraging and funny. When she shared the diagnosis and treatment, she wrote she would emerge with the daffodils. I will be waiting for my daffodils to emerge this year. I plan on holding a poetry gathering via Zoom to honor her. You’re invited. Obituary Beth Brody, Writer  I love the haibun form. This year I had two accepted into the Portland Haiku Society chapter's anthology.
Crossing Bridges is a new haibun anthology by The Portland Haiku Group, edited by Shelley Baker-Gard and Shasta Hatter. Our anthology features haibun by ALXSw, Ellen Ankenbrock, Steve Bahr, Shelley Baker-Gard, Chandra Bales, John Budan, Terry Ann Carter, Maggie Chula, Lisa Gerlits, Shasta Hatter, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Cathy Merritt, James Rodriguez, David H. Rosen, Ce Rosenow, Diana Saltoon, Jacob D. Salzer, Marilyn Stablein, John Stevenson, Carolyn Winkler, and Johnny Baranski. Crossing Bridges was published by Lulu Press, Inc. in 2024, and also features artwork by Carolyn Winkler. Crossing Bridges is available to purchase on lulu.com for $15 USD. The following haibun is one that I've been working on about a place from my childhood. The Knolls Late summer after fifth grade, my family moved. Dad accepted a teaching position and we were having a house built. Grandma called our new location, “the god-forsaken valley.” We had a six month wait as our house was built. Scouring the real estate ads in the newspaper, my parents found a cabin-like house. It was nestled among scrub oak, California lilac, and sumac, a change from manicured lawns. We moved in. Definitely not built to code. I adored the house’s quirky ways. My bedroom closet was lined in cedar. I could walk in it and inhale its woodsiness. It was the enchanted forest I dreamt of many nights. Everyday, the bus would drop me off at the bottom of our dirt road driveway. It was the best adventure. Mom felt otherwise. My brother and I tracked in dirt, leaves, and sometimes mud from playing outside. At night, coyotes howled. Often, my night emergency room nurse mother was greeted in the morning by our neighbor, a wizened tattooed lady, offering her a beer. two months later moving truck brand new apartment © jone rush macculloch |
AuthorAll photos and poems in these blog posts are copyrighted to Jone Rush MacCulloch 2006- Present. Please do not copy, reprint or reproduce without written permission from me. 
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