Category Wordsong

Oct 27 2025

Substituting “stair” for “step”

Hi everyone,

Wordsong published Connecting Dots, Poems of My Journey, in 2004. It was illustrated by KELLEY CUNNINGHAM and remains one of my personal favorites. The book consists of 48 poems about times that I remember and felt moved to write about. I called them dots of my life that collectively painted a picture of who I am. WENDY MURRAY was my editor. She has told me that Connecting Dots still ranks in her mind as one of the best poetry books she ever edited. One reviewer commented, “Perhaps the best feature of the book, however, is how it encourages us to consider the “dots” in our lives, those moments, some momentous and many trivial, that have shaped who we are and how poetry can help us paint our self-portraits.”

DAYDREAMS

I remember the turtle
beneath our basement stair.
I see him sleeping there.

Maybe he’s dreaming of clover,
shade beside a tree,
days when he was free.

When he awakes, he lurches
searches through the gloom
around across the room,
scratches at the stones.
Methodically he crawls,
scrapes against the walls.

The walls mark his prison,
but even if he knows,
on and on he goes.

I remember the turtle -- 
when I was only three -- 
whose courage was lost on me.

(c) 2004 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved

After 21 years, it still holds its own, at least on Amazon.

In reality, it Connecting Dots has been out of print for years but I spotted a used copy for $9.99.

Jan 8 2025

The Battle of the Thermostat

Hi everyone,

These cold days and nights remind me of a poem I wrote more than twenty years ago about the thermostat wars. It was illustrated by JANE KENDALL and published in 2003 by Wordsong, Boyds Mills Press in a collection called The Alligator in the Closet. 

The Thermostat Wars

(Voice 1)
No compromise on either side,
No one’s ever satisfied,
Dad turns up the thermostat
And Mama turns it down.

(Voice 2)
In the frigid frosty winter
When snow blows all around
And sleet beats at the window
And rattles on the ground,
We quiver, shake, and shiver
And hope we won’t be found
With the thermostat on 50,
In a lumpy frozen mound!

(Voice 1)
No compromise on either side,
No one’s ever satisfied,
We always have the coldest
Or the hottest house in town.

(Voice 2)
So in the blazing summer
When blistering days return
And temperatures are boiling
We have a new concern - - 
We melt in sweaty puddles
Sizzling while we burn
With the thermostat on 90, 
Wishing they would learn.

(Voice 1)
No compromise on either side,
No one’s ever satisfied,
The battle of the thermostat
Rages up and down.

(c) 2003 David L. Harrison
Nov 26 2024

Jan Cheripko, a good guy, a good friend

Hi everyone,

My friend JAN CHERIPKO died when I wasn’t paying attention. He died nearly half a year ago and I just learned of his death. I’m very sorry that I didn’t express my condolences at the time of his passing. 

Jan Cheripko, a good friend

I met Jan early on in my association with KENT BROWN and his team who were developing Boyds Mills Press, the book line for Highlights for Children. Wordsong, the poetry imprint of BMP, was headed by BERNICE CULLINAN, who taught at New York University and had been president of International Reading Association. 

Jan was a go-to guy for Kent. He had an English degree from St. Thomas Aquinas College, had worked as a newspaper photographer, reporter, and editor, and taught at a school for troubled kids. He loved words and found the perfect home in the world of book publishing. A number of his own books were published over the years that followed.

In the late 1990s, I co-authored a book with Bernice (Bee) Cullinan, my first one for educators. We had a serious falling out over a key issue and Bee was so mad at me that she wouldn’t edit my next manuscript at Wordsong – Wild Country, Outdoor Poems for Young People. Jan stepped in and agreed to be my editor. “I’ve never edited poetry,” he told me, “and I want to still be friends when we finish this book.” He did a great job and we remained friends until he died.

I loved our conversations. Jan was always there with good advice, intelligent opinions and observations, wit, and humor. He wrote till the end. Our last email exchange was on April 9. He died on May 29 and I didn’t know it. I miss him.
Jan 9 2024

When it all comes together

Hi everyone,

Today my thanks go to EMMA and her charming daughter LYLA for illustrating a poem that I wrote in 1994 in a book published by Wordsong/Boyds Mills Press, The Boy Who Counted Stars.

Bedtime

By David L Harrison



Read me a story.

Please read me to sleep.

	What kind of story my love?

Of raindrops and rainbows

And furry soft kittens

And ponies and gentle white doves.



Read me a story.

Please read me to sleep.

	What kind of story my sweet?

Of magical castles

And harps that can sing

And gypsies who dance in the street.

Read me a story.

Please read me to sleep.

	What kind of story my pet?

Of pirates and treasure

And ships in the night

And mermaids who escape from a net.



Read me a story.

Please read me to sleep.

	What kind of story my child?

Of mountains and meadows

And bubbling brooks

And stallions who run free and wild.

Read me a story.

Please read me to sleep.

	What kind of story my dear?

Read any story

And I’ll go to sleep

As long as I know you are near.



© 1994, David L Harrison, from The Boy Who Counted Stars, all rights reserved
Dec 20 2022

A toast using the last glass

Hi everyone,

I’m delighted that the first pre-ordered copies of THIS LIFE go out in the mail today. Let me know when your books arrive!

On other matters, I’m spending this week getting out a few manuscripts that have accumulated in the files. This is a bad time of year for submissions because editors are either busy or on break. But I’m busy the rest of the year so all I can do is send out my work now and wait for editors to get back to their offices after Christmas.

While searching through the files, I was reminded of one of my old favorites about the last crystal glass from an original set of eight. Something about setting elegant tables this time of year sent me on a search for the old poem, which was part of the ALLIGATOR IN THE CLOSET collection illustrated by JANE KINDALL and published in 2003. 

THE LAST GLASS

In the beginning
There were eight
Graceful glasses
By our plates,
For dinner parties,
Special guests,
Holidays,
Sunday best.
.
Their elegance gave
A touch of class,
But time is hard
On fragile glass,
Cracks and chips
And hardwood floor
Reduced the set
From eight to four.

Still their number
Dwindled down
Till this last glass
Was left around
To gather dust
All by itself
Forgotten on
The cupboard shelf.

I love to use it
Now and then
And think of parties
Where it’s been,
For it was made
To grace a plate,
This one of a kind
From the elegant eight.


(c) 2002 David L Harrison, Alligator in the Closet, WordSong, Boyds Mills Press