A Note on This Museletter Extra Page
You may have read (or not) about the changes in WFOP’s Museletter. There are a number of changes you can read about on page 4 of the Summer 2025 edition. (https://www.wfop.org/s/25summer_muse124.pdf)
The one big change for the members’ poetry pages is that there will be only one page for poetry in the printed edition of the Museletter (and its corresponding PDF version). However, this “Museletter Extra” page is where chosen poems that don’t fit in the Museletter will be posted. The poems on this page will refresh with each quarterly Museletter and new prompt.
Access the latest issue of the Museletter.
Museletter Extra
Poems by Our Membership
The prompt for this Museletter Extra was to write a poem using one of these lines from Mark Wunderlich in a poem.
1: “Once I walked out and the world…”
2: “The crows kept counting their kind.”
3: “The green world greened around me.”
4: “Bright wheel of flame twisting.”
Once I Walked Out in the World
and the world walked in
to me
and the world walked beside
me.
Inhaling scent of big blue-stem
grass
feeling its fronds brush my shoulders,
I imagine
its roots clutching crumbs of earth
reminding me
of how roots, stems, tassels
once
stretched to the horizon,
reminding me
how tenacious this plant and first
peoples
despite attempts to erase them
with the plow.
—Erna Kelly, Eau Claire
Verdant Memory
The green world greened around me
As my despair slowly vanished
Light penetrated the tall forest canopy
Illuminating the varied hues of the understory
Chlorophyll activated, the powerhouses
transmit positivity and energy and light
At that moment, my life was pendant yet conscious
My body elevated to another level and moment in time
Do others experience this verdant moment?
One so ethereal and fleeting
May the peace of the forest forever shine within me
—Colleen Matula, Mellen
The crows kept counting their kind
We stopped after ten were assigned
"One for sorrow,
Two for mirth..."
Eleven for mornings with good coffee
twelve for holidays with brown toffee
forty-seven for the last leaf that falls from the trees
forty-eight for the first sign of spring beneath our knees
ninety-three for unpredictable thermals on which they skate
ninety-four for when the great being dies at the bottom of the lake
two hundred and fifty for when a tapestry comes undone
two hundred and fifty-one for a new story just begun
—Erin Matula, Mellen
Remains
What remains
After a day of rain
Once I walked out and the world was reflected in a small puddle
It doesn't take much to echo the expanse.
After the rain
The air is cool on my face
The soft breeze an echo of your caress
One touch tells the story of your heart.
In the cool air
I shiver but won't leave
Tell me the story of your heart
And I will hold it gently.
I shiver
As the world ripples across water
I hold gently
What remains.
—Stephanie Ramer, Madison
the crows kept counting their kind
until ravens showed, only two
bullies capable of dispersing
the entire murder of crows,
taking over the neighborhood
then flew along the tree line
pulling apart every squirrel nest,
pilfering their stash until finally
seizing the bird bath driving
away pesky little sparrows.
until the crows returned in even
larger numbers, madly crowing
—Patricia Carney, Cudahy
The Earth Assails
Once I walked out and the world
was eager in its greeting.
The wind blew warm, the ferns unfurled,
some playful wrens were tweeting.
But then a spiteful buzzing sound
approached with painful pinch.
Mosquitoes circled all around
each claiming their square inch.
Not wanting to be someone's snack
I headed for the trees,
but then inhaled a new attack
by pollen allergies.
I rubbed my eyes and took a turn
out to the midday sun,
but when my scalp began to burn
I knew that I was done.
One day I'll mentally prepare
to take these risks in stride,
and plan adventures few would dare—
for now, I'll stay inside.
—Marshall Begel, Madison
A Crow Once Gave Me a Safety Pin
The crows keep counting.
They’re kind — these clever corvids,
add up their shining treasures
and always have enough to share.
They’re kind; these clever corvids
do not horde all the brightness
and always have enough to share.
We humans think we never have enough.
Do not horde the brightness.
Be generous like crows.
We humans think we never have enough.
We multiply what we fear we’ve lost.
Be generous like crows
adding up their shining treasures.
We multiply what we fear we’ve lost.
The crows keep counting.
—Joan Wiese Johannes, Port Edwards
Autumn Waking
Once I walked out and the world
would not have it, threatened,
cajoled, bribed and beckoned,
to ground me again in its glorious struggle.
In truth, I had not gone far,
only loosened my grasp of all
that fostered care in my life,
care that cracked and ached,
care that left me exhausted.
In the end, I held on, and the world
walked me back on a trail
paved with care and autumn leaves.
—Sarah Sarna, Oconomowoc
Flightless
I noticed them first when the snow came,
Lingering by the broken pottery scattered across my back porch
I hadn’t left anything out there for them,
Yet they kept coming back.
Maybe it was because I wore all black
Or they heard my howling in the night
Or the echo of empty pill bottles
Through my open screen door
They brought me pine needles
Old acorns, a bottlecap
A new gift for every sunrise
I kept bringing it all inside
They kept visiting me
Early in the morning, late at night
I had nothing to give, but they stood by me anyway
The crows kept counting their kind.
—Lauren Dochnahl, Spring Green
Taking Off
The horses entered the track,
schooled to blaze at the blast of the starting bell.
Stay focused on the turns. Keep to the inside.
Reserve energy for the final furlong.
Once I walked out
and the world was different.
No blinkers to limit vision. No daily explosion
from the gate. No crop in the jockey’s hand.
My stride slowed. I strayed off course. The grandstands
emptied. No odds of time to the final wire.
—Sharon Daly, Cambridge
The Canyon
Descending,
we three hike
with poles and care,
with no need for small talk.
The tall thin agave plant sways this way and that,
in conversation.
I am silent
The green world greened around me.
The brown world browned around me.
Every shade imaginable
whispering ancient secrets.
Here, lost in the Grand Canyon's
deep abyss,
there's nothing to say.
—Ann Lee, Lake Mills
Submit Your Poems
The prompt for the February 1, 2026, Museletter is to write a “golden shovel.” The two lines below come from the poem “Paean to Place” by Lorine Niedecker. Use ONE of the lines to write your golden shovel poem.
(1) And the place / was water / Fish / fowl / flood / Water lily mud
(2) My mother and I / born / in swale and swamp and sworn / to water
Use each word in the line as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Your poem will be either 11 or 13 lines long, depending on which line option you use—line 1 or 2. Your poem does not have to echo or be like Niedecker’s poem. For more info and an example, try poets.org/glossary/goldenshovel.
Deadline: Sunday, January 18, 2026
When submitting, please include your city of residence. Email to Steve Tomasko, Museletter Poetry Editor, with the subject line “Museletter poem submission.”