Friday the 13th has always been a day of good luck for me. This year is no exception, because today I have had the honor of a poem published by a journal I admire.
Passages North, founded in 1979, now resides at Northern Michigan University in Marquette, Michign. I was introduced to the journal by a friend, Laura Soldner, who was on the faculty for many years–thank you, Laura! Passages North offers both an annual print issue each spring, and regular “bonus” content online. To learn more about this excellent journal, click HERE.
To find the most recent bonus supplement–my own poem!–click HERE.
The stunning first image in this post is by my sister, Karla, who shared it with us this year as a Valentine’s Day card. The rest are ones that I have taken over the years in our neighborhood.
“Autumn Joy in Our Garden” (Leslie Schultz, October 2025)
For me, the publication of a new issue of MockingHeart Review is always an event, and that is even more true on those occasions when the journal includes one of my own poems, as it does this time, because I am truly happy to be in company with so many talented poets and artists.
To find my poem, “Ships”, inspired by childhood memories of the Coos River in Oregon, click HERE.
Even better, to look at the entire issue, chockful of poems and art work, go to the home page of MockingHeart Review, click on “Volume 10, Issue 3”. I think you will find it an oasis of insight and beauty.
Wishing you a splendid autumn day!
LESLIE
“Fall Fruit, Northfield, MN” (Leslie Schultz, October 2025)
There is no feeling quite like learning that a magazine you respect and enjoy reading has accepted something you have written. It feels as though you have been handed not just a bouquet but a whole wall of flowers. Though the poem itself has a distinctly autumnal feel, the news of its publication felt more like the merry month of May.
My poem, “When the Time Comes,” will appear in the Fall Issue of Third Wednesday Magazine, and it has already been published online, on the magazine’s website.
(These photographs are of downtown Park Rapids, Minnesota.)
May started out with a blast of poetry and travel. Susan Jaret McKinstry invited me to read with her at a wonderful place in Duluth, Minnesota, Zenith Bookstore. For me, this reading was one of the highlights of the spring. We had a wonderful time connecting with poetry readers and sharing our work, and afterwards Tim, Susan, and I were able to go out with friends. Over the next two days, we explored the city, discovered a new favorite restaurant (At Sara’s Table Chester Creek Cafe–I have already made two recipes from their cookbook) and Wussow’s Concert Cafe, and visited three perennially interesting sites: Glensheen Mansion, Splitrock Lighthouse, and Gooseberry Falls. It was a trip I shall remember with pleasure for a very long time to come.
Another pleasure for me was to be able to read my poem, “Duluth,” written a long time ago, before I had seen this beautiful city, in the northern urban jewel. (“Duluth” is one of the first poems that I published after moving to Minnesota–in The Northern Review–and I was honored when the review asked to use the first line in a promotional campaign and sent me a complimentary sweatshirt. The poem is reprinted in my collection, Still Life with Poppies: Elegies, and also below.)
DULUTH
This is true north; It is more fixed than heaven. Beyond icy shallows The deeps steam. Anchors stay hidden. Their chains seem to end Where they touch the lake, Yet these ships are linked to them Tenuously As dreams nearly dreamed. Hulls full of grain Float in a cold slumber. I wonder why we've come, Whether we're late or early. It's Sunday. The sun hangs On the quiet derricks, Sunk, Leaking daylight. We huddle in the car, Holding black coffee While our words dissolve. Only the coast retains An air of permanence. We're lost. A loon cries; Its shadow rises Like breath or smoke.
Leslie Schultz
Parking Lot Mural, Zenith Bookstore, Duluth, Minnesota
Today’s poem, “Announcement of Imminent Departure,” springs from daily life, spins a poem from a recent confluence of conversation and weather, and a recognition of the inevitable fleeting brevity of each moment. Here is a snippet of what I learned this morning, after I was alerted to the meaning of certain configurations of bird flight from my sister, Karla.
“Kettling apparently serves as a form of avian communication—an announcement of imminent departure—as well as a way of gaining altitude and conserving strength.”
As I wrote today’s poem, I was also thinking of how our mutual celebration of National Poetry Month draws to a close tomorrow, making way for something new.
