The Monday Poems Embrace Hope.

Last Monday, my poem took on the sweet smells and tastes of the season with apples and spice and everything nice. Today, instead of writing a poem about something tangible or tasty, I’ve taken on something that lives only in the heart and mind–something unthinkable to lose, but when this is yours, you’ll hold it, knowing you have something precious. Welcome to hope.


Hope blooms like petals, unfurling in spring.
Hope enters gently from
an act of kindness.
Hope finds its birth in a wish upon a star.
Hope appears in the words
of a promise.
Hope finds its way
on a fresh path.
Hope grows from,
“I love you.”
Hope begins with
a first step.
Hope finds comfort
in a hug.
Hope heals after
“I’m sorry.”
Hope listens

Leslie Leibhardt Goodman

I’ll see you here next Friday for another Autumn-perfect picture book review.


The Monday Poems Bake Up a Pie.

Baking is my favorite go-to activity when I need to find focus, can’t sleep, or want to fill my home with the irrisitible smells of steaming apples, grated nutmeg, cinnamon, cozy pumpkin bread, and so much more. With the leaves outside my kitchen windows turning apple colors of reds and gold, my poem centers on an autumn-perfect pie. So, grab a fork as I wish you

Bon Appetite!


Slice and dice apples—sweet, red, and golden.

Add spoonfuls of syrup—plenty to fold in.

Sprinkle in spice—as much as you please.

Then, roll a fine crust—baked crunchy as leaves.

set out pretty cups. Fetch plates and steep tea.

Family and friends come exactly at three.

One slice of pie—one dollop of cream,

with seconds for all—sigh… What a dream.

by Leslie Leibhardt Goodman

What’s your favorite autumn-inspired meal or dessert? I hope you’ll share it with me in the comments.

See you next Friday for the first of my four weeks of autumn-inspired picture book reviews.

The Monday Poems make a special promise

I recently took time off from blogging when the world grew too large. I moved forward again, but another challenge came into the picture. Today is my birthday, and nothing about today feels right. The poem I wrote is for someone who is more dear to me than anything in this world. Someone who needs more love and caring today than I do.


You search for the smallest place
where the walls press closest,
where the world cannot come in,
where you can disappear
in the space where the light fades.
But, I’ll find you.
And in this place,
I’ll stay close beside you.
I can’t make the world go away.
I can’t silence the noise.
But I can promise
I’ll always listen.
I will hear you.
I will wrap you in my arms
and love you
more than the love
one hundred hearts can hold.

The Monday Poems Seek Happiness

Monday PoemsI spent the weekend and most of this morning writing my post and poem to tie into the theme of the picture book I reviewed last Friday of Sonya’s Chickens by Phoebe Wahl, which delves into loss and recovery. No part of writing my blog brought me joy, and the words of my poem broke me. I spent over an hour debating whether or not to share my thoughts. I mulled over the feelings of death others have shared with me, including the chapter in Kahlil Gibran’s book from 1923, The Prophet. I arrived at a simple discovery.

The views people have on this topic are different from mine. (Not good or bad, just different.)

I read my post to my daughter who said, “Mom, people come to your blog to feel happy. They’re going to leave today in shock. What you wrote is beautiful, but it’s also dark.”

I started again. The world is currently dishing out plenty of ways to feel angry and depressed. The last thing I wish to do is contribute to sadness. Because we each deserve happiness, I paged through my collection of poems and chose one to share with you that I wrote to my daughter.

cup of stars


I love laughing while we sing a song,

not caring if our words are wrong,

making tents to play inside,

offering hugs with arms out wide.

laying out beneath the stars,

grateful for the love that’s ours,

reading chapters from a book,

a funny story—comic look,

holding hands to take a walk,

sharing feelings when we talk,

bedtime poems, I write for you,

the love that holds us strong as glue.


by Leslie Leibhardt Goodman


See you next Friday