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Karen grew up in southern California and spent much of her childhood on a boat. At age
3, she had her first wetsuit.
Her family loved to spend their time at the beach. While attending university, her father
supplemented his income as an abalone diver off the San Diego coast. Many of Karen's
poems are inspired by the ocean.
At age 23, Karen struck out on her own, moving to Alaska. She married and had 3 children
while attending Alaska Pacific College, where she majored in art and history.
In addition to writing poetry, she loves to travel and has been to 14 countries. Her
in-laws are British, and many of her poems are written with English villages as backdrop.
Karen began submitting poems to magazines and journals less than 2 years ago, and has
been encouraged by many acceptances, including The Christian Science Monitor, Willows
Wept Review, Joyful!, Ancient Paths, Sage Trail, Soundzine, Westward Quarterly, and other
publications.
In July 2008, Karen published a 175-page collection of poems titled Collected Poems by
Karen Kelsay. She also has a new chapbook, Fist of Roots, available from Pudding House
Publications. And five of her poems were recently released in an anthology titled Poetry
for Suzanne.
Some of Karen's favourite authors include Jane Kenyon, Edna St. Vincent Millay and
Gjertrude Schnackenberg.
Visit Karen's website at www.karenkelsay.com
Click on the 3 underlined titles to hear readings by Karen and her husband, Peter.
Then, visit the other Reading Lounges. You'll find the menu at the bottom of the page.
3, she had her first wetsuit.
Her family loved to spend their time at the beach. While attending university, her father
supplemented his income as an abalone diver off the San Diego coast. Many of Karen's
poems are inspired by the ocean.
At age 23, Karen struck out on her own, moving to Alaska. She married and had 3 children
while attending Alaska Pacific College, where she majored in art and history.
In addition to writing poetry, she loves to travel and has been to 14 countries. Her
in-laws are British, and many of her poems are written with English villages as backdrop.
Karen began submitting poems to magazines and journals less than 2 years ago, and has
been encouraged by many acceptances, including The Christian Science Monitor, Willows
Wept Review, Joyful!, Ancient Paths, Sage Trail, Soundzine, Westward Quarterly, and other
publications.
In July 2008, Karen published a 175-page collection of poems titled Collected Poems by
Karen Kelsay. She also has a new chapbook, Fist of Roots, available from Pudding House
Publications. And five of her poems were recently released in an anthology titled Poetry
for Suzanne.
Some of Karen's favourite authors include Jane Kenyon, Edna St. Vincent Millay and
Gjertrude Schnackenberg.
Visit Karen's website at www.karenkelsay.com
Click on the 3 underlined titles to hear readings by Karen and her husband, Peter.
Then, visit the other Reading Lounges. You'll find the menu at the bottom of the page.
| Hotel Del Coronado She unwraps the newspaper and lifts it from the box, palm trees and red rooftops promenade across her beloved watercolor. Back in her early twenties, she caught the bus to meet sailors in that ball room, and danced all night to big band music. Pictures of royalty and movie stars lined the hallways, behind gold frames. Chandeliers hung in the lobby. There, she sunbathed on the Silver Stand while naval ships passed by. Now, sea scents fill her mind, as eighty-year old fingers trace the glass. Staring at the ragged palm outside her desert home, she squints her eyes—and pretends she’s in San Diego. |
| Somewhere Near Evesham December swept the cemetery lawn; The drone of church bells bridged the waterway. On ancient tombstones, near the abbey wall, Each epitaph stood faint and worn away. But then that special one, in front of me, Had blossoms reaching upward from the ground, All yellow, bright as spring. And when I read The words engraved, a sleeping voice I found -- It softly echoed out in hope these words: "Although my body is corrupt, I shall Again be whole. " And all the way I thought Of her, while wandering the long canal. |
Hello Annanisa I found you one summer in a genealogy book pressed between two siblings like a forget-me-not The beauty of your name caused me to linger on the page I bent closer and perceived your quiet voice Then you shook your hair and a ribbon rolled across my arm tying us together. |
| Meadow Dance Wildflowers beyond our moving train's window remind me of women flourishing multicolored scarves in choreographed farewell They abound in colors like gypsy caravans we passed last summer near Nottingham, each wagon painted brilliantly as bluebells, ornamented with gold leaf Behind their miniature doors I imagined women with silver on every finger, hoops dangling from ears, and bandannas enhancing swaying hips Late-evening, they unfasten waist length black hair and shake it loose before slipping bracelets from their wrists Silently, before dawn spirals through cypress trees and crowns the clearing with a wreath of caravans, without a tinkle they disband to another meadow only to vanish once more-- like the goldenrod and foxglove I view through the speeding railcar's window. |
| Sara Orange Tip You could have folded like a paper triangle, and slipped naturally into death’s pocket-- if you weren’t so beautiful. June’s mustard fields and streams still wait for you. Verbena’s purple bloom has missed your touch. Who captured you in mid-flight and pinned you to this board, forcing you to fly throughout the ages with your elegance exposed? |
| Sorrow's Farewell I rest my head on Sorrow’s knee, she combs the tangles from my hair and whispers words, then kisses me-- I sleep, lulled by her dirge-like air. My dream took wings to join the birch that silvery spreads on hill and field; while moonlight sat upon her perch, I felt that grief to hope must yield. I thought about eternity, what I should find in the Beyond— No, not for being sorrow free this planet earth I would abscond. And came the morn, when I awoke, although my dream had not revealed the obscure words that Sorrow spoke-- with her last kiss, I now feel healed. |
| The Merman's Gift She pressed a colored shell Against her ear And heard it whispering: Elizabeth. Then, before her eyes, The sky turned liquid green, And swaying trees withdrew In blurry forms; Corals and sand dollars Became scentless flowers. Seaweed ribbons drifted Cloud-like in the breezy Currents that swirled about Her lacy pinafore— By which a merman pulled Her into the deep. |
| Moonlight and Melodies When the eastern moon spreads Her soft light through my jacaranda tree, I know you are near. Branches, laden with purple flowers, Brush against my window To wake me, and Evening silently Arranges her stars above The hills covered in goldenrod. Beyond my shadowy garden wall, Where double daisies grow, I hear your violin faintly playing-- Is it Saint-Saëns? The familiar Melody moves like a secret whisper Across the landscape, to tell me: You are content. |
| Bavarian Visit So far from home you were, my friend, But now you move across the hills, Subtly and in silent reverie, as though you Were a will-o'-the-wisp above this lovely land. This is your place of birth; I feel your Presence in the twilight, as boats upon Lake Constance glide toward the Swiss shore-- but not you. See, here is Lindau: it's still your own. Surely, the harbor's lighthouse remembers you. Are you aware of gentle waves, lapping, Whispering at the shore, and alpine meadows Fading into the growing night? Do you remember Our walks through these woods? Now, once again, I must leave you and your Bavaria. Where even Death cannot subdue your desire to stay. |
| Drawn by a Picture Of all the pictures on the castle wall, Yours pulled me near, somehow. In fine detail, The painting shows you with an open book Upon your knee. Long ribbons flow in pale Streams down the bodice. Your fair head is turned, As if something had drawn your eye away; Perhaps a robin rustling in his tree-- You smile, as though you are about to say: Come here; I'll read to you a chapter from My book…. I trace your royal features: hair Is flowing down your back. And I see you In one forever-moment, sitting there. |
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The following applies to all The Well-ReadHead and all its content:
Poems, readings and illustrations by Carla Martin-Wood are Copyright 2009 Carla Martin-Wood. All rights reserved.
This material may not be reproduced in any form, published, recorded, performed, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
All such actions are strictly prohibited under law.
Likewise, all poems read by or explicitly attributed to visiting poets on this site are the property of such visiting poets and
are under copyright by them, and all photographs and illustrations appearing on this site are the property of the
designated photographers and/or illustrators and are under copyright by the respective poets, artists, illustrators and
photographers. All rights reserved. Such material may not be reproduced in any form, published, recorded, performed,
broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. All such actions are strictly prohibited under law.
Please see my Links page for a list of the various sites that have graciously provided some of the gifs for The
Well-ReadHead. Please visit their websites for more information.
The Well-ReadHead, Copyright 2009, Carla Martin-Wood, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form is strictly
prohibited under law.
Poems, readings and illustrations by Carla Martin-Wood are Copyright 2009 Carla Martin-Wood. All rights reserved.
This material may not be reproduced in any form, published, recorded, performed, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
All such actions are strictly prohibited under law.
Likewise, all poems read by or explicitly attributed to visiting poets on this site are the property of such visiting poets and
are under copyright by them, and all photographs and illustrations appearing on this site are the property of the
designated photographers and/or illustrators and are under copyright by the respective poets, artists, illustrators and
photographers. All rights reserved. Such material may not be reproduced in any form, published, recorded, performed,
broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. All such actions are strictly prohibited under law.
Please see my Links page for a list of the various sites that have graciously provided some of the gifs for The
Well-ReadHead. Please visit their websites for more information.
The Well-ReadHead, Copyright 2009, Carla Martin-Wood, all rights reserved. Reproduction in any form is strictly
prohibited under law.
