Award-winning poet.
Lifelong storyteller (started with childhood ghost tales).
Widely published author of short articles,
stories, photos and poems in local and national newspapers and magazines,
and author of three poetry chapbooks.
Leader of photography and writing workshops at Pacific Northwest conferences.
Married since 1959. Mother of four sons, grandmother of 14.
Signature poem, reprinted from Lutheran Journal, reflects
“the best years, when the kids were growing up, even though chaos was always our middle name.”
Born in Oregon City, Oregon. Now lives in Sunriver, Oregon
It was bedlam as usual, at our house.
Doors slamming,
Kids yelling.
Skateboards rumbling.
My head throbbed.
My tired eyes closed.
Suddenly (it seemed) I heard something!
I heard the deep lonely silence of--
No friendly bickering at the dinner table.
No frantic last-minute scramble for gym clothes and lunches.
No voices crying, "Mom, where are my socks?"
I saw something too--
A neat manicured lawn where a sandbox once spewed
sand and toy trucks all over the sidewalk.
I felt something--
A longing to step into the entry way and find it gritty with sand.
A strange hankering to scramble for dropped pennies and pencils
during morning worship.
A need to view a small sleeping boy cradled in stuffed animals,
dog-eared books, wearing his new cowboy boots.
I experienced a craving for hot buttered popcorn--
An endless game of Monopoly.
A drive in the rain, with
a picnic in the car, juggling sandwiches, sodas and children.
A long drawn-out baseball game, lukewarm hotdogs
and sticky Sno-cones.
Blending back into my comfortable bedlam, headache forgotten,
I happily shelved those things
I'd seen. . .and heard. . .and felt.
Suddenly right now felt so good.
Gail Denham