Sherri Winston's Blog, page 2

I had a busy weekend. My sister, Jennifer, visited with her beau, J, and there was a flurry of activity.

Please forgive my tardy weekend poetry. My poem is short and sweet. A form called a “clerihew,” something I never heard of. It’s sort of like a limerick except it’s shorter. And it’s supposed to be humorous. I hope you are amused. Enjoy!

Day SevenSaturday blues

Saturday is a day
When I wish to play.
Mom says my laundry’s “encrusted,”
No play day for me, I’m disgusted.

Today’s poem is a homage to a Nikki Giovanni poem, “Knoxville, Tenn., ” which was one of her most popular, about life growing up. Here’s my version. Enjoy!Day Sixa little town in Michigan


held together by lakes,
our town shimmers in summer
and daddy stands on granddaddy’s
back porch
with steam from the grill
blowin’ in his face, his eyes never watering,
and I’m running around with
watermelon smiles
corn cob teeth
and my brothers are riding bikes
and my grandmother, she a trip,
always watching and waiting
with Band-Aids and full
of fussing but good
with dessert like banana pudding
and today might be Eighty degrees,
hot day for Michigan,
and we kick a ball up and down the block
and my grandfather gives daddy
his two cents, “Don’t burn the meat,”
but daddy sips an amber juice in a bottle
with no name and only bobs his head,
then Mommy and Uncle Mac arrive,
and she’s carrying trays of deviled eggs,
pristine white with buttery yellow
curlicues and Paprika freckles, and
don’t forget the music blasting from
tiny radios or Grandma’s stories playing
on the tv in
the front room.

It’s that kind of day,
a summer day,
in a little Michigan town.

The ode is possibly the oldest form of poetry. Its sole purpose is to celebrate something or someone.

Years ago while working at a South Florida newspaper, my friend Donna, also a coworker and I were opining about snacks. To make her laugh, I composed a little ditty I called, “Ode to a chip.”

That was well over 20 years ago. I do not remember the words to that poem. But in honor of National Poetry Month, I have composed another. Warning: you won’t be able to read it just once! Enjoy!

Day FiveOde to a Chip



golden and crisp, salt
stains your fingers
she is much maligned,
with talk
of betrayal! Bad for you.
But for you she is
a beauty unlike any
other she snaps and
crackles when pushed and
teases with greasy fingerprints
and when you can take
it no more, she yields
crunch, crunch, crunch! And
then she is
gone. Lost forever until
nimbly, fingers search
the bag for another.

Yesterday was a bit of a pickle. Whether it was me or the platform, I could not get into WordPress. (Do you hear me WordPress, stop blocking me!!!)

I’m kidding, about the blocking part, anyway. But because of my technical challenges, I did not publish a poem for Day 3 as promised. Well, I did write one. So today I will publish two poems.

With this daily challenge, I’m testing myself, forcing my mind to be creative and stretch in ways I never have. It’s quite freeing.

Thanks to Fija Callaghan’s article on Scribophile, “Types of Poetry: The Complete Guide with 28 Examples,” I can choose a variety of forms and challenge myself to work within those restraints.

And because I love writing for young people, I decided to keep my poetry youth-centered. My first poem represents the my own form. At least, I think it does.

Day Three“Look Out Below”Blades of grass beneath my feet, And more green grass beneath my seat,With sunlight shining in my hair,And happy birdsong in the air.But as you kiss the lovely day,Sure it could never go awaySinging birdsong flaps and stops,As birdies fly and let it drop!

Next, I tried my hand at a sonnet. Please, true poets, be kind. I was feeling my favorite all-time muse–the majestic trees that sprang from my grandfather’s lawn when I was a kid. I really felt like they were telling me stories, the way the wind moved between the leaves. So here is my homage to those trees and all the muses that whisper sweet nothings in our ears.

Day Four“Do you hear the trees”
(Sonnet format ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)

They speak with wind beneath their leaves,
Their call so soft and so sincere.
Their message blows beneath the eaves,
So hushed, gentle tones one dost hear.

At night they stretch into inky skies,
Toward stars that twinkle white.
Then sigh upon a midnight high,
Their way to say ‘goodnight.’

A silent witness through the ages,
Spilt secrets like the harvest seeds.
Nourishing landscapes through all their stages,
With stories ripe for what we read.

Who could claim responsibility for tales as tall as these?
Look no further than your yard and listen to the trees.

Today’s poem is my very first attempt at a limerick. Let me know what you think!

BUTTER

There once was a girl who loved butter.

She craved its buttery taste above others.

It drips down to her toes,

This causes her woes,

When she slips in a buttery puddle.

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A haiku for you. I made it fresh.

A flower is a 

song. Sniff, sniff! And sing along.

Colors sing high notes.

The glamorous life of a heart patent 5/19/23

The cough was epic.

It wasn’t COVID.

The pulmonologist said it was a severe lung infection. That was August ’22. It was a dry cough. Bone rattling. Wake in the middle of the night gasping cough. It shook my insides and made sleep impossible. I awoke one morning that steamy summer barely able to catch my breath. As soon as I presented to the triage nurse at the Orlando ER, I was whisked away to a room and put on oxygen. I was there for seven days.

Diagnosis: Bacterial infection in my lungs and a severe sodium deficiency. Apparently, my sodium was low enough to induce seizures and death. I had no idea.

They sent me on my way. Pressure in my chest lessened.Breathlessness decreased. And for a while, the cough lessened, too. Lessened, but never really went away.

In the fall of that year, my book Lotus Bloom and the Afro Revolution was released. A day after being released from the hospital I left on a multi-day book tour and tried hard to keep my health issues secret. Navigating the airport was a nightmare. I had to take wheelchairs because I was too weak to manage otherwise. It was humiliating and debilitating. Still, I tried to convince myself that the doctors had conquered my problem and in time I’d be back to normal.

But the cough didn’t go away.

Neither did the fatigue. Or weight gain. Or shortness of breath.

They all lingered like ghosts, the cough scratching at my lungs, clawing at my throat, the fatigue causing me to fall asleep mid-sentence in the afternoons.

More trips to the pulmonologist. Breathing treatments. Coughing spasms to rival any advanced tuberculosis patient. Days and weeks and months went by.

I was buoyed by the success of my book, Lotus Bloom earned national recognition when it was longlisted for the National Book Award. I looked forward to the release of my next book, The Braid Girls. Still, good news wasn’t stronger than the cough. It grew like bacteria in a petri dish, like fungus on a damp, dark host. 

In May, I was looking forward to one last school visit and then resting at my brother and sister-in-law’s house in Michigan. 

I arrived at the E. Lansing, Mich., hotel in the middle of the night. I was so out of breath I had to rest in the parking lot and on the stairs. At the school visit, I told the children I was getting over a cold and made my illness part of our presentation, with the children eagerly helping me finish sentences. They thought it was great fun.

Air in my lungs was elusive.

Two days later, in the comfort of my brother’s basement, which is fully finished and often serves as my writing retreat, I dropped to the floor and believed I was dying. I sucked on the expensive inhaler until I could taste plastic in my throat.

Nothing.

The inhaler wasn’t working. And I couldn’t breathe.

Once again, I made my way to the ER, weak and sweaty and confused. And once again, the triage nurse whisked me away.

Only this time, the preliminary diagnosis was different.

“Sounds like you’re in heart failure, love,” the male nurse said matter-of-factly. 

Signs of heart failureshortness of breathloss of appetiteextreme fatiguepersistent coughswollen (enlarged) abdomenswollen ankles or legs

I would’ve laughed if I’d had the energy. There was nothing wrong with my heart. Why did he think that?

Well, many tests and ten days later, I came to accept the truth. I was in heart failure. The cough, extreme weight gain , shortness of breath, swelling in my feet and legs—all classic signs of heart failure.

Then came the tests. Good news, bad news. The good—no plaque, no buildup, no clogs. Bad news—my lower left ventricle was only working at twenty-three percent capacity. They explained that the average person’s heart was at fifty-five to sixty-percent at its peak. 

A surgeon with silver hair and the hearty disposition told me, “I think you’ll be fine in a few days. Then you can go home.”

A taciturn heart specialist with the bedside manner of tv’s House told me, “We don’t understand why you were so sick. Do you understand how bad you were? You need to stay here longer.” So I did.

That was six months ago. 

Now, I have to judiciously monitor the amount of fluid I take in (64 oz. per day), as well as weigh myself daily to make sure I’m not retaining extra fluid.

Finally, after months and months of a cough that shook my body like an earthquake, I am no longer coughing up my lungs.

I’m still traveling, I have a new book coming out in January, Shark Teeth, and I’m awaiting a contract on another, fingers crossed. 

For now, at least …I can breathe.

Thanksgiving Day is perfect for recognizing our most cherished books read or heard in ’23

Happy Holidays everybody! I listen to 95 percent of my stories but trust me, I read, too! Here are some of my favorites from the year. What books/stories/listens inspired you this year?

Favorite listens in adult booksVera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers by Jesse Q. Sutanto:

Delightful, refreshing take on a murder mystery, featuring a darling senior lady who runs a dying tea shop in Chinatown. When an unknown man dies in her shop, Vera’s mundane world plunges into one of mystery and intrigue. Told with such delicate care and aching honesty. I heart thee.

Judgement Prey by John Sanford:

Lead character, Lucas Davenport, has propelled dozens of titles and adventures in the Prey series and his latest, book 33 doesn’t disappoint. For fans of hardcore, gritty crime thrillers, no one does it better. Thank you, John Sanford for your latest tale of greed, madness and murder.

The Last Devil to Die by Richard Osman:

What can I say? No one makes aging cooler, sharper or more poignant than Osman’s cadre of septuagenarian sleuths back again for their latest romp and heartbreaking evolution. Growing old is not for the faint of heart, but this group proves it should be embraced and faced head on. An excellent series of any age!

The Best Worst Christmas by Kate Foster:

I love a good Christmas romance, especially when it skews from the syrupy sweetness of some in the genre. Lily and Tom have history and after 10 years the two are thrown together for an unforgettable reunion and a holiday you won’t forget. Bernice, Lily’s mother, is alone a great reason to listen. Who could resist a menopausal Christian pagan singing in a choir called, “the Wassailing Wenches?” It’s fun and lovely and will leave a lightness in your heart and a smile on your face.

Favorite listens & reads in kids and teen booksPromise Boys by Nick Brooks:

One of the most exciting listens of the year, this multi-cast performance is earnest, heartfelt and fast paced. It highlights something that gut-punches me every time–the willingness of greedy opportunists to violate disadvantaged children, robbing them of their education. When three boys at a so-called academy that looks out for at-risk youth, the murder of a principal, a swift call to justice and circumstance soon expose that the real risk to the boys wasn’t their pasts but their preset and presence in the Promise Academy. Young Adult.

Corduroy by Don Freeman:

This favorite from my childhood is a book I often credit with inspiring my writing career. When I saw that it was narrated recently by Viola Davis, I had to listen. OMG! The tale of the little bear lost in the shuffle of bright shiny toys and the adorable young black girl determined to make him hers still touches my heart and makes my imagination sing! All ages.

The Mystery of the Radcliffe Riddle by Taryn Souders:

An age-old thirst for adventure and a good old-fashioned treasure hunt propel this fun and fast-paced tale written by my good friend, Taryn. You go girl! An inspiring tale filled with riddles, puzzles and clues. Put on your thinking caps, kids. Time to outsmart the adults! Ages 10 and up.

The Braid Girls by Sherri Winston:braid-girls-final-art4748Download

Okay, I couldn’t finish this list without mentioning the amazing multi-cast performance of a truly unique book. Our neighborhood didn’t have a lot of babysitters, certainly not enough to make a club. But we did have braiders–girls who could tighten up your cornrows and make you a braided bun or box braids that would hang and dangle with beads on the end. It was an honor to write this book from the three viewpoints of Maggie, Callie and Daija. I hope you get to introduce yourselves and hear their story of forgiveness, friendship and family.

Since September 2022, it’s been a whirlwind of book signings. From Atlanta to New Orleans with their sweet, sweet peach cobbler. To Boulder, CO. Go Buffs! Where I crossed paths with the wonderful Christina Diaz Gonzalez. To Miami and Fort Myers where I met up with my friend, the amazing Sharon Flake!

Now, I’m preparing for the release of my new book, Shark Teeth. Jan. 4, 2024. I’m on my way to Columbus, OH, for the annual NCTE (National Conferences of Teachers of English). I’ll be signing preview copies of Shark Teeth and copies of Lotus Bloom and the Afro Revolution. Wow! I can’t believe the year I’ve had. It’s been amazing!