My poem, 'The Day My Father Ran Barefoot at the Dog,' was just published in Unbroken #47. A special thanks to the editorial team. www.theunjournals.com/unbroken47

Excited to share that my poem is out in the Fall ’25 issue of @Songs of Eretz (theme: Digging). Huge thanks to the editors for including it. Think sea turtles, moonlight, memory, and the kind of knowing that runs deeper than thought. You can now read it on my Substack.

Thankful that @doorisajarmag.bsky.social recently accepted 4 of my poems, "Cicadas," "The Knowing of My Name," "Arrival," and "A Light That Remembers,” which will be included in their Winter 2025 issue.

My latest poem, Beyond the Veil, first published in Bainbridge Island Press, POETICS: Corvids, now available on my Substack.

My father’s office was always off-limits, a sanctuary, and a mess. After he passed, I was finally allowed in. This poem came from the quiet hours of sifting through his papers, trying to understand a man who will always remain partly a mystery.

My father’s office was always off-limits—a sanctuary, and a mess. After he passed, I was finally allowed in. This poem came from the quiet hours of sifting through his papers, trying to understand a man who will always remain partly a mystery.

In the rings of a tree, we read time; in their absence, we feel the weight of our unmaking: a poem about trees, silence, and loss. Thankful to the editors of @thomasonianmag.bsky.social for publishing my poem, 'What We've Unmade,' in their inaugural issue.

Coming soon! Three of my poems will be included in Issue 05. ☺️

She’s been sitting like this for several minutes, just staring at me, completely still. When she’s actually stuck, she yowls to let me know. This silence? Definitely plotting my demise.

Though not quite fitting for the current season, I wrote this poem a year ago and submitted it to literary journals. It was accepted in January 2025, and after patiently awaiting publication, the journal issue is finally out. I'm excited to share it with you now.

An editor suggested cutting the last third of a poem since it doesn’t add much substance or new insight. My heart is racing at the thought. It’s a large chunk! Yet, after reading it several times in that new light, I have to agree. Still, hitting delete feels like losing a piece of my soul.

Honored to be named an International Merit Award winner in the Atlanta Review 2025 International Poetry Competition! While not a prize winner, I’m grateful for the recognition. The submitted poems will appear in my forthcoming collection, out Spring 2026. More to come on that!😊

I forgot about this photo. I’m looking forward to this long weekend, to find a quiet spot and listen to what the birds and the rustling leaves have to say.

Another gorgeous Boston morning. As I gear up for the work grind, I'm reminded of my poem, 'Morning Song,' recently published in @everscribemag.bsky.social . Wherever you are, whatever you're facing, pause to breathe. Sometimes, that's enough.

New on Field Notes: Courage in Transformation. Sometimes courage isn’t about overcoming. It’s about staying. Staying with the grief, the not-knowing, the places we can’t control. Walk with me in my backyard, where a patch of wildness opens into something deeper, guided by the words of Michael Tobin.

I wrote this after I dug through some Rubbermaid bins I’d kept in storage and moved into the new home. You forget what you put in them, and sometimes, that’s a good thing. I am also thankful to @alienbuddhapress.bsky.social for including this poem in their print anthology about love.

Come visit me on Substack, and read my poem, Morning Song, an ode to the rising sun.

The garden cosmos are beginning to bloom.

The world will tell you to go numb. Don’t. Choose tenderness. It’s the braver act. Thankful to the editors at The Berlin Review ‪‪@theberlinreview.bsky.social‬‬ for publishing my poem. open.substack.com/pub/samaurel...

Our Saturday morning routine. She wakes me up at 5am. She wants outside, so outside we go. I read and write. She finds another place to snooze.

My poem, Hinoki and Cedarwood, can be found in Humana Obscura’s latest issue.

She’s called “The Sun Bear” for a reason.

Honored that A Soft Unfolding was chosen as the grand prize winner by The October Project. It’s a quiet poem about staying present in uncertainty, and I’m grateful its whisper of hope was heard.

A lone black-eyed susan in the backyard.

Imperative by Scott Cairns

Math, memory, and the quiet unraveling of someone’s echo.

Sharing a piece of my heart with 'Zero’s Edge'—a poem about memory, loss, and the quiet unraveling of the mind. open.substack.com/pub/samaurel...

This morning, a Nuthatch and a Titmouse had a sing-off, going at it like disgruntled lovers in a melodious quarrel.

She never used to sit on my lap. But for the past several weekends, she’s been curling up on me every morning, completely content, completely immobile, and effectively holding me hostage. I’m not sure if this is a heartwarming breakthrough, or if I’ve simply been conquered under feline rule.

A quiet, hopeful reminder that beneath the noise and sorrow, renewal is always possible. Take a breath. Read slowly. Let the light in.

Red clover growing in the backyard where I chose not to mow this year.

I'm excited to see my poem, Geometry of Silence, in @turningleafjournal.bsky.social . It was a difficult one to write. For years, I avoided speaking openly about my childhood, but now I look trauma straight in the eye. Healing sometimes begins by naming what once had no words.

My poem, To Die Is to Live Again, can be found on my Substack.

The blueberries are growing, and soon I’ll be making blueberry this and blueberry that.