This freezing and thawing dosey doe
the outdoors has frosted over
ice falls often,
putting the Ice Man of history in balmy palms
though I hear the sunshine
is dim in the panhandle.

A chuck roast
whose rump has frozen
rock salt sprinkling
if this is dinner
I will screech on pass.

(c) JACK”E” 2026

On May 22, my above poem was featured on a podcast called One Poem Only. A poet herself Maggie Devers helps the poetry community by featuring a poem on her podcast. As the name suggests: One Poem Only. Give it a listen and tune in daily to har her read poems from other poets. It’s a refreshing listen!

The story behind this poem is somewhat simple. The open call for submissions was looming on the horizon. I wanted to write a new piece. The week leading up to the deadline was insanely and bitterly cold. There were a couple of snows days and as you may have guessed by my reference to the panhandle Florida too was also cold. There were so many states that was dealing with a deep freeze and some high degree of winter weather that it was in the forefront of my mind. I recall thinking “Now I know what meat feels like in the freezer!” Suddenly, I began to write the poem and it the poem field of the submission form. I made sure I copied my poem and pasted it in a document for my records. I clicked submit and waited.

I got an email a short time later informing me that my poem was selected. I was pleasantly surprised and couldn’t wait to hear it. I shared the link with friends, colleagues and some family members. Though I was slightly hesitant to do so initially.

As an artist and poet you want to share your work and also protect your work. It causes you to feel exposed because it is your soul that is on display. You want to connect with others through your work and hope it communicates well and someone likes it. Sometimes the judgement is a jagged little pill, (I couldn’t help but make a Alanis Morisette reference here.)

You remind yourself that everyone has their preferences and biases. Your work will sometimes strike a chord and other times not so much. So you go back to the drawing board. You erase that line. You scrap that verse. Or crumple the paper. Or erase a few too many lines with too much force and before you know it your sketchbook is crying in pages.

Anyways, if you made it to the end of this post I appreciate you reading my poem, it’s story, and my little ramble.

Do you find it refreshing or nerve-wracking to be vulnerable with others?