Monday, April 10, 2017


As a trained English Major in fairly good standing with the National English Major Society created by Garrison Keillor, I consider it an honor and a necessity to share Poetry Month with anyone who will listen.  I hear your sighs and see rolling of eyes. I began writing poetry when I was twelve.  I am working on a book in progress, breathing poetry.  I wanted to put all my poems in a notebook so I could see them and have easy access.  I memorized my first poem in grade school, The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson.   

I will catch a phrase in my head.  Walk into a grocery store.  Drive by the Daffodil Lady.  Think on a few lines.  Then find paper and pencil.  I often remember where I was when the idea was birthed. Sometimes I just sit down and start writing. The words and rhymes just happen.  And some of them take my breath away.

I am not perfect or published or the Nation's Poet Laureate.  I have read thousands of lines of poetry. I can walk into Robert Frost's home in Franconia, New Hampshire.  Go up the stairs to his simple room and stand at his desk, looking out the window at his view of the White Mountains and wonder.  What was on his other road?

Whatever my talent, I believe it is a gift.  God has wired my brain a certain way.  He is the creator. My talent is just sitting down to write.   And then He lets me breathe. 


Daffodil lady.
A handful, just a few
early season blooms
of yellow and green.

She stands on the corner
trying to catch the eye
of the person driving by.
She steps closer.

Look at me.
Don't you see
what I have to offer?
Flowers for just a dollar or two,
a way to brighten your day.
Dollars to pay my way
back home,
money to buy some food.

Daffodil lady
where do you belong?
With your bucket bouquet
have you paid your way?
Are all the flowers gone?

Amy Holt Taylor


  1. Love thinking of the daffodil lady and you writing.

  2. Love thinking of the daffodil lady and you writing.