V E R S E and I M A G E

Witness – Appalachia to Hatteras

August 14, 2026 by GriffinPoetry

Wayah Bald on the horizon

[ 3 poems from the 2026 Gilbert-Chappell mentorships ]

✾ ✿ ❀ ❁

all selections are from the 2026 edition of

Witness: Appalachia to Hatteras

the annual anthology of the Gilbert Chappell Distinguished Poet Series

mentor program of the North Carolina Poetry Society

Weeping Willows

In a garden of weeping willows,

roots coil in secret below the patient gaze of stones,

and shadows thicken with stories unsaid and untended—

secrets no one can tell.

Yet, each leaf holds a history pressed thin by longing,

longing something forgotten—

leaves know more than anyone could ever know.

The weeping willows weren’t just there for show,

they were there for a story,

a story on how everything had gone wrong.

Once upon a time they weren’t weeping willows,

but just willows.

However, with all the history they held,

they wept.

hoping and praying they could just die,

hoping they would be forgotten

so no one would cause them more damage,

but every spring’s arrival

rattles against those hidden wounds,

making forgetting impossible.

They hide in winter, hoping no one will see,

but spring only draws attention,

when they are forced to be beautiful,

while at night they weep.

Cynthia Ward

Eastern Region Gilbert-Chappell student poet, Cynthia is a junior at West Columbus High School, where she is the school poet laureate. The Eastern Region Gilbert-Chappell Mentor is Gideon Young, Chapel Hill, NC.

❀ ❀ ❀

Cross #12

A random cross was performed between parent 1

and parent 2. Figure 8.1 gives the results

of the cross. Use the table to answer the

following questions:

1. If the offspring’s genotype is a result

of independent assortment and crossing over,

is the offspring really just the sum of

probability and chance?

2. If the offspring express a recombinant

phenotype, what gives it inherent beauty?

3. If there are no alleles for morality,

why does the offspring feel an inherent sense of

right and wrong?

4. If parent 1 was heterozygous

dominant, and parent 2 homozygous

recessive, what is the offspring’s purpose in life?

5. If the offspring’s mos fundamental instinct

is to survive and reproduce, why does it care

about so much more?

6. If all there ever was and is is this world,

why isn’t the offspring satisfied by it?

Kendal Dixon

Kendal is a Central Region Gilbert-Chappell student poet. She graduated in 2026 from Southern Alamance High School. The Central Region Gilbert-Chappell Mentor is Joseph Mills, Winston-Salem, NC.

❀ ❀ ❀

Why I Love Polka Dots

My mother is going out.

I don’t really know what this means,

I only know that

soon I will be left behind.

But she is here now,

I am here now,

and now

it is just the two of us.

I sit at the foot of the bed.

She, high priestess, poses in front of the mirror.

Girdle, garters, stockings,

lipstick, rouge, hairspray, jewelry.

The bumps of the old white bedspread

press mountains and valleys

into my sunburned summer thighs

as she twirls in front of me

in her favorite dress,

chocolate brown satiny silk

covered with

black velveteen polka dots

that shiver and pulse with a life

I don’t yet understand.

Mary Beth Stevens

An adult student of the Gilbert-Chappell Western Region, Mary Beth lives in the Blue Ridge mountains. She has written children’s books but only lately turned to poetry. The Western Region Gilbert-Chappell Mentor is Lee Stockdale, Asheville, NC.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poet Series originated in 2003 at the encouragement of Fred Chappell, North Carolina’s fifth Poet Laureate. Fred felt a mentorship program for students and young adults would further the North Carolina Poetry Society’s mission of encouraging the reading, writing, and enjoyment of poetry across the state. Through a generous endowment from the family of Marie Gilbert (herself a life member and supporter of NCPS), this mentorship series is permanently funded and has thrived for twenty-three years.

Three Distinguished Poets from Eastern, Central, and Western North Carolina each mentor a middle-school student, a high-school student, a college or university student, and an adult mentee within their respective regions. The current State Coordinator is Michael Dechane, and the Distinguished Poet Mentors for the 2025-26 season have been Gideon Young (East), Joseph Mills (Central), and Lee Stockdale (West).

Applications for the 2026-2027 program open September 1 – November 15. Find more information about the Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poet Series, including an application form, at the NC Poetry Society web site HERE

❀ ❀ ❀

Each student works with their mentor to write and edit a series of poems. In addition to public readings and presentations, GCDPS publishes an annual anthology with poetry by the students as well as the Mentors, Witness: Appalachia to Hatteras. Order your copy HERE

Cape Lookout

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:

. . . . . every Friday I present one or more poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;

. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.

If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:

https://griffinpoetry.com/about/

If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.

If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to

COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM

Thanks again for joining the conversation.

– Bill

Posted in Imagery | Tagged Cynthia Ward, Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poet Series, imagery, Kendal Dixon, Mary Beth Stevens, nature photography, NC Poetry Society, NC Poets, poetry, Southern writing | 2 Comments »

Saturday Share – Sandra Brodkin Dreis

August 8, 2026 by GriffinPoetry

Saturday morning readers share:

Sandra Brodkin Dreis

Tympanal

Cradled upside down

in fibrous threads

I rest, develop from

undefined strangeness

into my destiny.

I wonder…

this grove, too, upended

and suspended, might be

entirely on its verdant head–

sun on a blanket with moon,

the sky grassy, ticklish.

Here, among the branches,

every part of me listens,

every pore hears forest.

A breathing leaf, the fungal air,

insect cousins inching closer.

Bats flap above, echolocate

like drones. I fear their target.

A hundred fine scales

structure, strengthen me–

now flight filigreed

my blood pumps, my belly

vibrates, tiny organs react,

and as sound waves waffle

and pulse–there are whispers

of wings to come.

Sandra Brodkin Dreis

❀ ❁ ✾

I am cultivating the perennial, Alocasia, on my deck, so impressed that they enjoy the blasting heat and humidity as much as I do not. My Jack Russell, Jillie Bean, does not disturb them, probably thinking they are doggie umbrellas.

. .

My first full length poetry collection, Good Dirt has been released by Kelsay Books. Check out their site or Amazon.

Sandra

❀ ❁ ✾

Note from Bill – many insects are able to hear via a specialized organ, a tympanal or tympanic membrane. Like our human tympanum but visible on the exoskeleton rather than tucked into an “ear.”

Additional poetry by Sandra Dreis at Verse and Image:

https://griffinpoetry.com/2026/04/29/poetry-and-earth-spring/

https://griffinpoetry.com/2025/03/14/widow-makers/

https://griffinpoetry.com/2023/04/21/earth-day-wild/

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:

. . . . . every Friday I present one or more poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;

. . . . . Saturdays I present a poem or two submitted by YOU, my readers.

If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:

https://griffinpoetry.com/about/

If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.

If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to

COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM

Thanks again for joining the conversation.

– Bill

Posted in Imagery | Tagged NC Poets, poetry, Sandra Dreis, Saturday readers share, Southern writing | 3 Comments »

Alone – J. R. Solonche

August 7, 2026 by GriffinPoetry

[ 4 poems by J. R. Solonche ]

Only

“Why do you not sleep?” the goddess asked.

“They are only years.

Only years.”

“I do not sleep because they’re only fears,” he answered.

“Only fears.”

“Why do you weep and weep?” the goddess asked.

“They are only fears.

Only fears.”

“I weep and weep because they’re only years,” he answered.

“Only years.”

“Why do you keep and keep?” the goddess asked.

“It only disappears.

Only disappears.”

“I keep and keep because it only appears,” he answered.

“It only appears.”

J. R. Solonche

❀ ❀ ❀

October

It’s a beautiful day.

It’s just about perfect.

Why just about? Why not?

Why the hell not perfect?

The temperature’s in

the sixties with an easy

breeze. Clouds, not too

many, in the blue sky.

I walk my property,

talking to myself. “These

are my trees,” I say.

“They belong to me. Every

branch, every twig,

every tree, small or big,

is mine. Every bird

that nests in my trees are

mine. Every worm that

crawls in my warm soil

is mine. Every blade of

grass that grows in my lawn

is mine. Every breeze

that blows through my trees

is mine.” Ah I would

give, I would give, I would

give all that is mine,

all this that is mine for

the girl I saw on the train

when I was seventeen.

J. R. Solonche

❀ ❀ ❀

Thought

I thought I had a thought.

I was wrong.

It was not a thought.

It was something else entirely.

I know a thought when I think one.

I have had many thousands of thoughts.

What I had was not a thought.

It was a feeling.

It was an inkling.

It felt like ink running down the back of my neck.

It was an itch of ink.

I scratched it until my fingers turned blue.

Then I wrote this with it.

This is not a thought.

This is a poem.

I think.

J. R. Solonche

❀ ❀ ❀

Today We Fly Over You

Today we fly over you,

said the geese with wings as wide as vowels

as I looked up to see them fly over me.

Remember us or not,

said the last of the geese in line

as it disappeared from sight.

Everyday I fly over you,

and everyday you do not notice me,

said the empty sky

as I looked up at the empty sky

filled with ghosts of geese,

their wings like soaring smiles.

J. R. Solonche

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

In this collection Alone, by J. R. Solonche, the poems in Part I and Part III are indeed alone, one single poem lingering within each section, and these two lonely poems are each titled Alone. What then might I, as reader, expect from the eighty-five poems that jostle together to fill Part II, that wide open expanse of poems in between the opening poem and its brother poem at the book’s far shore? None of those eighty-five at first reading seem to tackle head on the question that opens the first line of the first poem in the first section of the book: How does a man get used / to living without a woman? Not head on, not at all, but perhaps tangentially and discretely? And when they seem to wander, is it really without aim or purpose? What in the world is their purpose?

What is the purpose of any poem, after all? If it is written to a purpose isn’t it really an essay or a polemic, even if disguised with linebreaks? Maybe the poem finds its purpose in simply being alone. There it reclines on the page, its shape or shapelessness an undecipherable incantation by the writer of it. There the poem stutters its grammar into being, a Rosetta stone to be picked up and picked at by the reader. Namely me. I, who have chosen to sit alone with the poem for the passage of moments it takes to read it line by line. Then probably read it again because a single passage through those curls of letters like lines of foam on incoming waves is not enough to really feel the tug of undertow.

And then at the end, after crossing the sea of the entire one+eighty-five+one poems, I arrive at the far side. Time has coalesced, an infinite sequence of points becoming finite. The words have gathered themselves and bestowed whatever my momentary mentality has been able to glean. The poems have become my past, my present, and even my future (this is getting tense). I don’t know the explicative answer to the poet’s question, How does a . . . , but I know I myself have spent alone time with these poems. We have been alone together. I have a feeling. I will write it down, my own question. Maybe sometime later when you and I are alone together, I will share it with you.

❀ ❀ ❀

Perhaps the answer to How . . .? is Keep writing. The sensations, observations, recollections converge to become the unifying moment. Or diverge into companionship with the cosmos. My inklings and I, we are never alone.

Read additional poems by J. R. Solonche at Verse and Image:

https://griffinpoetry.com/2026/04/29/poetry-and-earth-spring/

https://griffinpoetry.com/2026/07/31/like-grass-j-r-solonche/

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:

. . . . . every Friday I present one or more poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;

. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.

If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:

https://griffinpoetry.com/about/

If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.

If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to

COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM

Thanks again for joining the conversation.

– Bill