December Column

First published in The Evening Sun on December 25, 2011:

During the Fall semester, in my Composition 101 class at Harrisburg Area Community College, one of my students turned in an essay full of inventive description and crafted metaphors. After reading her rough draft, I said, "You're a poet, aren't you?"

Alexandra Smarsh, my student and a local poet, wrote her first poem in third grade after 9/11 and mailed it to the President. After encouragement from her teacher, who told her to "never stop writing," Smarsh now writes for at least two minutes every day. She went to high school at Kennard Dale and online, and now, at age 18, is an English major at HACC. In the past year, she has also attended poetry workshops at Susquehanna University.

Many poems have emerged from her daily writing ritual, including "To My Classmate." Smarsh wrote this poem during an art history class, after hearing one of her classmates had been killed in a shooting.

To My Classmate

A smudge of lead hushes the page
more white than gray
it whispers to his knack of rhyme
but time grew weary beneath his feet
its hands slipping to silence his song
now they only hold the face of a clock
ticking to the beat of an empty chair
and we sit in class.

His mother’s face is damp with dusk
and we talk about Picasso
and Kandinsky
and the colors of sound.

During class, Smarsh had difficulty discussing paintings after hearing the tragic news. Describing her instinct to write as a "coping mechanism" at times, she penned this poem to express her emotions in this moment. Though her words came from a place of sadness, Smarsh has the tendency to pull light from darkness in her work. In this case, she uses synesthesia throughout her poem to paint her own version of this moment with words.

Writers add layers to a sensory experience by using synesthesia. For instance, in the first line of the poem, Smarsh writes, "A smudge of lead hushes the page." The dark color of "lead" does not make a sound, but Smarsh imagines how it would sound if it did. In her work, she often connects scents and colors to different sounds and likes to work in abstraction.

In her daily life, Smarsh stays attuned to the details around her and then feels compelled to record them in writing. She told me that she is "inspired easily," especially by moments that seem overwhelming emotionally. I echo her ideas because I live my best life when I pay attention to the minute details of my surroundings. Everything has the ability to make you feel or create meaning for you if your senses are active.

Smarsh's advice to writers is to mirror her practice of writing for two minutes a day. Sit down and time yourself. Though not every word may end up in a poem, something is sure to come from self-expression. Smarsh even shared that sometimes she does not fully understand how she feels about something until writing about it.

It took writing "Beneath Your Sky" for Smarsh to understand her feelings about an artist friend, who was headed down a destructive path. She said she wrote several pages, feeling like she was "screaming at him on paper," and then revised the poem to a page. The emotionally charged images that came from her writing are evidenced in the opening stanzas:

He exercises his soul’s strength
trying to get a stronger grip on truth;
something that’s never been given to him
so he searches for the word beautiful at the bottom.

He feeds easy money to a broken woman
and waits for happiness to fall
in the acidic raindrops dancing on his tongue
caressing his breath with the controversy
of fear and freedom.

He thirsts for peace, indulging himself
within his mind hoping to fill his cup with the
drippings of a trip he may never return from.

Though Smarsh inspires us to be aware with her words, she also inspires others with her ambitions. After attaining her Bachelor's degree, she would like to teach in Uganda with the organization Resource for Hope. She has always been attracted to African culture, and after learning about child soldiers, her mission in life involves helping children and war orphans in Uganda through education. Passionate about the power of writing, Smarsh feels called to share this gift with others and show them different ways writing can help us cope, as well as change our lives for the better.

If you would like to participate in upcoming local poetry events, please check out my blog or send me an email. I wish you all a happy and safe holiday season, full of lovely words and unexpected rhymes!

January Poetry Events

Start the year off with lots of poetry!!!


January 6: Ragged Edge Reading and Open Mic, 6 p.m. Gettysburg

January 14: Reader's Cafe Reading and Open Mic, 7:30 p.m. Hanover

January 16: Poetry Critique, 7:30 p.m. North Hanover Giant Cafe


*Please email me for more information about these events: bradyke@gmail.com

December Poetry Events

Wednesday, Nov. 30: Lancaster Poetry Exchange features Melissa Carl, 7:30 p.m. Lancaster Barnes & Noble

Friday, Dec. 2: Ragged Edge features Dustin and open mic, 6 p.m. Gettysburg

Monday, Dec. 5: Poetry Spoken Here features Jeff Rath, 7 p.m. YorkArts City Art Studio

Saturday, Dec. 10: Convergence open mic and feature, 7:30 p.m. Reader's Cafe in Hanover

Monday, Dec. 19: Hanover Critique, 7:30 p.m. North Hanover Giant Cafe

November Column

First published in The Evening Sun:

Our community is lucky to have so many poetry venues within driving distance. Hanover poets attend events in Gettysburg, York, Harrisburg, and Lancaster, at various bookstores and coffee shops. Yet, I am happy to announce some of you may be able to walk to a new poetry event, located in Hanover. The

Convergence poetry reading has found a new home at The Reader's Cafe.

Rich Hemmings, who lives in Stewartstown, PA, has hosted the Convergence poetry reading for almost eleven years, in various venues in Pennsylvania, and with different hosts, including his wife, Debberae Streett. In September, he brought Convergence to The Reader's Cafe, where it meets the second Saturday of every month at 7:30 p.m.

Though some have certain expectations for poetry readings, Hemmings hosts Convergence with the idea that, as he said, "special events make the reading more exciting." This is not your typical reading series, and no month is the same. I encourage you all to come check out his many "special events," including novelists, musicians, multiple readers, slams, contests, and salutes to poets.

Hemmings believes, "poetry is not limited to poetry." As evidenced in his October reading, titled "Masquerade," Hemmings said he allowed "prose and poetry to rub shoulders." Participants read prose as if it was poetry, signifying that poetry is apparent in everything we read.

There are many reasons Hemmings values the venue of The Reader's Cafe. Owner Derf Maitland encouraged the reading series, and provides a coffee shop atmosphere, while surrounding the readers with literature and an art gallery feel, with the bookstore's architectural flair.

Next month, on December 10, Hemmings will host Mike Argento, reading from his recent novel "Don't Be Cruel." Afterwards, Argento will sign copies of his book. Though Hemmings features someone each month, an open mic always follows. Those present can sign up to read their own work, or work they admire by other writers.

Though Hemmings plays the role of host for this monthly event, he also has been writing for 35 years. He starting writing during his teenage years in New York City, and continued after moving Pennsylvania in early adulthood. His father's passing propelled him back into poetry as an adult, and he began attending poetry readings, as well as the critique in Hanover, formerly held at The Reader's Cafe.

As a poet, Hemmings has the gift of beautiful imagery. He chooses words carefully to emphasize the emotion of a moment or a scene. In "The Empty Garden," Hemmings reflects on the death of a friend, who happened to pass away on 9/11. Ten years after the man's death, Hemmings could still ascertain a "scar" in the land where the garden once flourished.

The Empty Garden

Mr. Markle grew tomatoes

and corn, made war with groundhogs

that ate his cabbage.

He died, at 83,

on September 11th, 2001,

but not a victim of terrorism.

This spring his garden lies fallow. Still,

the grass is a different shade

where vegetables once grew.

The land bears scars by memory;

not from hand and hoe

but from an expectation of firm attention.

There will be no harvest and death.

Even the weeds have departed,

clearing the way for a birth that never comes.

The crux of this poem lies in the "expectation" that is never fulfilled by the farmer. The land, scarred with "memory" of cultivation, reminds us of loss, even ten years afterwards.

To hear more of Hemmings' work and his exciting twist on the poetry reading, please come to Convergence on December 10th. The reading begins at 7:30 p.m. at The Reader's Cafe, located at 125 Broadway, a couple blocks from the square in downtown Hanover.

This November, I'm thankful Convergence has found its niche in Hanover. I'm also thankful for the opportunity I've had to serve as Hanover's Poet Laureate. As my term nears its end, I reflect on the wonderful people I've met and poems I've read. If you are a writer who would like to serve the community as Hanover's Poet Laureate, I encourage you to email me at bradyke@gmail.com.

October Column

First published in The Evening Sun:

Dramatist Edward Bulwer-Lytton wrote, "The pen is mightier than the sword." Though not intended for an audience of seventh grade girls, his words could not be more applicable to our young people. With increased bullying and peer pressure, our youth often use violence as an outlet. However, I recently had the opportunity to introduce the power of words to a group of Adams County seventh graders, and the poetry they produced packed more punch than any fist ever could.

On October 11, I led poetry workshops during the break-out sessions of Adams County's Young Women's Leadership Conference at Gettysburg College. The conference invites seventh grades from eleven area schools to participate in a day of guest speakers, fitness exercises, and a variety of workshops, to encourage wellness, empowerment, leadership, and learning.

The workshops ranged from dance lessons to stress-management discussions. I had the pleasure of introducing many young women to the power of poetry. During two sessions, I worked with seventh graders from New Oxford, Gettysburg, and Bermudian middle schools.

I asked the young women to think of two moments from their lives: moments when someone or something made them feel good or bad. Instead of reacting or discussing the events, I asked them to take their ideas and feelings to the page. In a few lines each, the young women gave themselves voices, amid the din of seventh grade cliques and drama.

We combined all the mini poems from the group and created the poems below. You can read the longer versions on my blog.

While discussing ideas to write about, some imagined how writing gives each of us a voice that no one can take away. Many of the young women wrote on this theme. The first poem is thus titled, "My Voice."

My Voice

I want to be heard

not drowned out

in others' words.

My ex-friend,

told the whole 4th grade.

I felt as shy as a cricket.

I was excluded

like I was isolated

on my own little island

They mocked me

But tried to be my friend

every once in a while.

She did not like me because of my skin.

It made me sad deep down within.

She did not even know my name.

And was ignorant to the fact that all people are the same.

They push me

I push them back

all of a sudden, "Smack."

I walked away in shame.

For then, I knew

what having a broken heart meant.

The words coming from his mouth

were piercing my throat

making it so I couldn't talk

but only cry.

My true friends saved me.

Though most of the moments in "My Voice" deal with negative experiences, many of the young women also wrote about moments of joy and excitement. The following poem's title is taken from one poet's line: "A Heart As Big As a Lion's Roar."

A Heart As Big As a Lion's Roar

I couldn't believe it!

It felt like I was in a dream.

When I found out

my eyes lit up

and I shouted, full of joy!

My smile was as big

as the sun.

I felt good when one of my friends

wanted to repay me

so she took me to a party.

She looked at me with a glow in her eye.

She seemed happy, but also shy.

She's helped me become who I am.

I know we are like peanut butter and jelly.

We spent a whole day in Maryland

collecting food and money for poor people.

It made my heart as big

as a lion's roar.

Thanks to the conference, I had the opportunity to teach some young women about poetry as a resource and an outlet. However, they reminded me that poetry empowers us. No matter the people or ideas that attempt to silence our voices, we can always return to the dialogue between the pen and page, a conversation that is always more productive than hurtful, spoken comments.

Girls' Leadership Conference Poems

This past Tuesday, I had the privilege to have a mini poetry workshop with 7th grade girls from Gettysburg, New Oxford, and Bermudian. Below, I have posted the composite poems we created as a group during our sessions. Please feel free to post more poems in response to these inspiring pieces. I would like to thank all the young women and their leaders for their participation! Keep writing! And send me your work. :)

My Voice

I want to be heard

not drowned out

in others' words.

My ex-friend,

I told her my deepest secret,

and she told the whole 4th grade.

I felt as shy as a cricket.

I trusted her. She was my best friend.

I guess not anymore.

I was excluded

all on my own

like I was isolated

on my own little island

no interactions, nothingness

During the field hockey game,

the ball came,

my stick wasn't ready,

the whistle blew.

They mocked me

made me sad

I felt invisible

then felt alone

But tried to be my friend

every once in a while.

She did not like me because of my skin.

It made me sad deep down within.

She did not even know my name.

And was ignorant to the fact that all people are the same.

They push me

I push them back

all of a sudden, "Smack."

Then he told me I was wrong.

But wait, maybe not, could it be

my answer to 7+7 was 13?

How he made me cry!

He said, "No offense"

but offense was taken

He yelled at me

and let me cry

in the dark

The words that boy said on facebook,

"Nobody cares what you say!"

they hurt me that day.

The Internet is a monster,

but it's no Frankenstein.

The one I loved was taken away.

My best friend stole him.

That's why I felt terrible yesterday.

She blamed me.

No one believes me.

I get caught for everything.

We were no longer two peas in a pod.

To my friend

I was always kind,

but he didn't return the favor.

I walked away in shame.

For then, I knew

what having a broken heart meant.

The words coming from his mouth

were piercing my throat

making it so I couldn't talk

but only cry.

It was the day when I said good bye.

It felt like I was going to cry.

I miss the days when we were fine,

when our friendship was divine.

I remember when we did everything together

and when you always made me feel better.

I remember when we couldn't be apart

only before you broke my heart.

Now the days are gloom.

I need someone to heal my wound.

Hopefully you won't shed a tear.

I hope you know I'll always be here.

Even though the skies may seem dark,

I know you'll always be in my heart.

When my parents got divorced

I then became forced

to expect the way of life

I remember my dogs fought and fought

until they were taught a lesson.

One passed, and I was heart-broken again.

My true friends saved me.

A Heart As Big As a Lion's Roar

Waiting. . .

then I heard it, my name.

I couldn't believe it!

I was an officer.

It felt like I was in a dream.

When I found out

my eyes lit up

and I shouted, full of joy!

My smile was as big

as the sun.

I break out in laughter

when I succeed and

there are no more frightening moments!

I felt good when one of my friends

dropped her money out of her pocket

and I paid.

She wanted to repay me

so she took me to a party to thank me.

She looked at me with a glow in her eye.

She seemed happy, but also shy.

She's helped me become who I am.

I know we are like peanut butter and jelly.

We spent a whole day in Maryland

collecting food and money for poor people.

It made my heart as big

as a lion's roar.

A Mother's Love

As the wind blew across the ocean

I was gently kissed not once but twice,

once by the ocean and then came a sweet,

gentle kiss from you!

She was born in the middle of May;

it was like the sunniest day.

I never knew I could love so deep.

I thought of her always even in my sleep.

October Poetry Events

October 7th Reading: Ragged Edge in Gettysburg; 6 p.m. open mic, 7 p.m. Kate Brady feature

October 8th Reading: Reader's Cafe in Hanover at 7:30 p.m.; Masquerade poem theme

October 17th Critique: Giant Supermarket Cafe (North Hanover) at 7:30 p.m.; Bring multiple copies of a poem