Award Winning Poetry - 2017 Narrative Poetry Contest - Semi-Finalist Bad Apology As if in an endless rehearsal, I packed and unpacked. The challenge, you said, was to take no more than I’d need. Tenderly, you followed the track of a storm moving in from the east. In bed, a wrinkled map across our laps; you circled a town and highlighted a road. A yellow, satiny, path. When we slept, you tried the path, left markers you had kept for days like these. And the markers were keys. Clues in a moonscape of dust-covered things – a pair of gloves with suede tips; a scarf; a ring. Ruins like proof of a marriage, a story’s skeletal sheen, small deaths, small victories. Maestro, my mourning dove, another chance? Put me back in that place with its signals and gestures and promise of more mistakes. And I’ll show you the hurtful lessons lovers make. Copyright © 2017 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Pubished in SWWIM , December 2017. Previous Next

Index Previous Next Ode for My Department Chair Who Left a Face Shield on My Desk For Sally Because all of this is seeing through complex prisms; seeds reconciling to stalks that lean grey-blue instead of the expected, upright green. Because the soil we trusted, turned, and patted on our knees became unresponsive, a sick child’s pale serene. Because birds and song became a dull-working machine. Because this exchange called teaching is more than granting access, pointing to open gates. Because Sophocles portrayed us as we ought to be; but Euripides portrayed us as we are: surprisingly unstayed and dying a happy death in front of them. Breath after breath. Because care in a time like this is not a stockpiling of perfect arguments, pleas and refrains as if part of a lesson plan – or worse, the cliché – something preordained . Because master and apprentice should look the same. Smithies hammering, melding, iron and steel. Because metals, once coupled with the right vistas and bent into shapes – a cruciform, time’s infinite wheel – were in a previous plague, thought to heal. . Copyright © 2020 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Published in NCTE's 2021 Fall issue of English Journal , National Council of Teachers of English

When speaking of the creative mind, Steve Jobs is quoted as saying, “There’s a phrase in Buddhism called ‘beginner’s mind’. It is wonderful to have a beginner’s mind.” The beginner’s mind is a way of looking at the world as embraced by one of the world's most creative giants ever known – Steve Jobs. As the author, M.B. McLatchey shares with us in classroom stories from her coveted childhood, beginner’s mind is a mind innocent of preconceptions and judgements; a mind that continues to face life mull of curiosity and wonder and amazement; a mind that invites creativity and sheds conformity. And, in a time when the education "experts" reward teachers for meeting standardized goals, Beginner’s Mind , the book, reminds us of what we already instinctually know about the need to nurture nonstandard lives. In Beginner’s Mind , we experience first hand the teaching we wish for our children – for all children. We see the beginner’s mind being nurtured and grown – day by day, page by page – and come to understand it’s warmth and beauty firsthand through the eyes of a 10-year-old and her classmates under the enlightened and loving mentorship of their fourth-grade teacher, Miss D. For America’s business leaders and CEO's, encouraged by flourishing STEM projects and government-funded programs in our public schools, Beginner’s Mind is a cautionary tale about what we may have forgotten and what our children may be missing, and it is about an enlightened teacher that led the battle – and proved the value – in educating the whole child: head, body, and soul. Beginner's Mind , Regal House Publishing, 2021.

Smiling at the Executioner Poetry by M. B. McLatchey Published November 22, 2023 by Kel say Books REVIEWS M.B. McLatchey’s Smiling at the Executioner is a brilliant collection of poems inspired by the Stoic philosophy, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying these poems, which know how to live on their own, to take root in your heart. These are the kind of poems you hope you can remember to quote when in moments of uncertainty. McLatchey is not some one-trick theme artist who will sing you “I get knocked down, but I get up again”—NO!—she’s the one who will serve you images, sounds, and textures that make you want to read this book aloud. She will bring you the taste of bread, the promises of olives, the singing of hunger, and the love of desire. —J.P. Dancing Bear , editor of Verse Daily M.B. McLatchey pens these perspicacious, wise, and musically intelligent poems with a sincere gratitude for being alive in an era when “our histories are shadows on a wall; our memories rote lessons that flicker and mutate.” These masterfully crafted poems are an antidote to our complicated age of technology, machine-enforced intelligence, and screen-based isolation. They applaud every moment of humanity, from folding a fitted sheet to drawing a bath, for knowing “what we were, how to retrieve our former selves,” and for putting the necessary spirit back into spirituality. —Jen Karetnick , Founder and Managing Editor of SWWIM , author of Inheritance with a High Error Rate , winner of the 2022 Cider Press Review Book Award Smiling at the Executione r is a philosophical exploration of survival, love, marriage, men, family—and words— inspired by the Stoic mind, using image and metaphor from ancient and contemporary myth. Like an ancient story, this book is so rich it is hard to pick and choose—each poem a meditation on the Stoic desire to keep loving one another, and to persevere. When writing of forgiveness, McLatchey writes, “not a sinner’s crawl; a purging of the stench /of an unkept stall; a never forgotten love, /Penelope’s woven—and unwoven—shawl.” —Lee (Lori) Desrosiers , Managing Editor/Publisher of Naugatuck River Review , author of Keeping Planes in the Air , Salmon Poetry If they aren't already familiar with her degrees from Harvard and Brown Universities, the title of M.B. McLatchey's book will draw readers to the superbly written content. Even though the author has endured hardships, she faces them with ideas that flow serenely off the page. It's beautiful to glimpse McLatchey's understanding of her range of control and the way she expresses her emotions. With rich imagery that never fails to create a lasting image in one's mind, McLatchey paints vivid scenes that entice each of the senses. Some poems have so much depth the reader may wonder about the challenges the author has endured and briefly consider the role of "J" in the pieces dedicated to that person. Many of the pieces unfold like stories, leading the reader to devour the author's thoughts and absorb the language. Smiling at the Executioner is a great selection for readers who enjoy eloquently written poems within a work of collected thoughts. —Courtnee Turner Hoyle , Reader's Choice Where to Order: Kelsay Books Amazon Barnes & Noble Book details: Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kelsay Books (Nov 22, 2023) Language ‏ : ‎ English Paperback ‏ : ‎ 100 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1639804544 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1639804542 Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 5.6 ounces Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6 x 0.25 x 9 inches

Selected Poems of Maria Teresa Horta Translated by: M.B. McLatchey and Edite Cunhã Published in Metamorphoses , 2019 Prev 11 Next POEM AFTER POEM Poem after poem I write poetry day after day, after night and startled I clench and I whisper and again the tumult Poem by poem I write the disquiet the translucent honesty of the wing, the harmony which desires the verse in the body of light Poem by poem I touch, assume the body of the work, fondling the language in a slow and inseparable indeterminable pleasure I dream, past symbol, past metaphor past syntax Word after word, after word after word… POEMA A POEMA Poema a poema escrevo poesia dia após dia, após noite e sobressalto cerro e sussurro e de novo tumulto Poema a poema escrevo o desassossego a translúcida lisura da asa, a harmonia que deseja o verso no corpo da luz Poema a poema vou tocando, tomando o corpo da escrita, afagando a linguagem num lento e indizível prazer indeterminável Sonho, após símbolo, após metáfora após sintaxe Palavra após palavra, após palavra após palavra... Copyright © 2019 M. B. McLatchey & Edite Cunha, with permission. All rights reserved. Published in Metamorphoses , Fall 2019. Copyright © 2017 Maria Teresa Horta, from her collection Poesis . Dom Quixote Publisher, Lisbon. Back to List

Index Previous Next NRR's 11th Narrative Poetry Contest - Semi Finalist Ode for an Absent Student So many dramas have played themselves out: a girl who saw through us, our Scout’s-honor truths; a girl scribbling her own proofs on the walls of a cell; a girl singing Fado in a tilted café, her star-rise a perfect – a textbook – chandelle; or, a girl whose shrill call feathers the walls of a well. Well of knowledge, coins, half-lives; mortar and water, a god’s paring knife. For his warrior mettle, Aristotle made Alexander recite – not the songs of Ajax – but the chant of his mother’s midwife. How she crooned at the sight of his scalp. Quick breaths, short beats like a cuckoo’s heart in flight; later, a conqueror’s lullaby; an air in clipped verse for his trek across the east, for his rise and fall, for the sound of his troops’ flat feet. Airs like anthems we hear in our sleep; bright conquests or the dull retreat. This morning marks three weeks. Your peers – all of us – proceed because there is a map to walk, countries to Hellenize – or not. Seas, you and Alexander must have known, cannot be crossed with brute force, missiles and stone. There is the compass that is another rower’s heartache for his home; the crow’s nest call that it will not be long. Things you forgot when you set out alone. . Copyright © 2019 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Naugatuck River Review's 11th Narrative Poetry Contest - Semi Finalist Published in the Winter/Spring 2020 issue of Naugatuck River Review .

Index Previous Next A Kenning No room for a bird that sings through her dangling foot. Thus, always leaving always grieving the loss of middle-earth: things given birth then quickly reified: something rising in a corner swelling and lifting its cover - not bread left to it's own. A swan's wake, more shimmering than her plumage - not a monk's glosses. A field burned for grazing - not poetry. The long goodbye. Always counting on some hollow ilex -- a kenning, a beggar, a toddler with one eye up to his knees in water and lye; expectant, big-hearted, and lost - to take us across. . Copyright © 2004 M. B. McLatchey All rights reserved. Published in The American Poetry Journal , Winter/Spring 2005.

Isms Excerpted from the book Beginner's Mind Salem College Penelope Niven Creative Nonfiction Award This is the work of an original, smart, and talented writer. She has a great storehouse of knowledge and a penetrating understanding of many subjects, including human beings. It is wonderful to read someone who knows a capella, Sanctus, and the Agnus Dei, as well as Carol Channing and Hepburn (and knows the difference). When has a school room been given such vivid enunciation -- the dioramas, shoe boxes, sticker-stars, and clay figures, the comfort of “half-truths” for other children, but not for Miss D’s. With a “sideways glance,” they took it all in, and were forgiving, like Miss D (whose door says welcome, an endless acquittal). It is difficult to see any of us “condemned,” and yet, there are standards. Standards! I can’t go on admiring line after line, when I am only on the first two pages in my commentary (and my language is so stupid and pale in comparison), but that’s what this essay does to me; it says look, see, remember. Word for word, sentence by sentence, I am enthralled. Thank God for Miss D, and for being reminded that at least one or two of my own teachers were, if not her equals, close sisters. While the writer appears like a new comet on my horizon, I am wild to know what this writer will do next. Meanwhile, she will be “graded,” though A+ hardly describes my admiration. -- Emily Herring Wilson, Judge 2007 Penelope Niven Creative Nonfiction Award Salem College Penelope Niven Creative Nonfiction Award

Award Winning Poetry - 2006 Muriel Craft Bailey Award - Finalist Odalisque Early light, the chill of souls leaving. You draw up the sheet to cover us; the soft of musk, the body's heat from an air pocket, nudged and wayward. The scent of fading bleach. I give you the curl of my back, a nonevent. Yet, all of it art. Ingres and Ingres' Odalisque who drapes a velvet curtain's jeweled sash across her calf; whose hips turn in a wash of Turkish hues. A French settee or this bed: staging we need to fuel our natural lives. To feel the body lift to the extension of a kiss. The temporal shift in calling souls home -- stomach, thighs -- like this. A quickening in canvas or stone: my open mouth and your inarticulate moan. Copyright © 2006 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Muriel Craft Bailey Memorial Award Finalist. Published in The Comstock Review , Fall/Winter 2006. Previous Next

Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears. - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Award Winning Poetry - 2020 Pushcart Prize Nominee 2020 Best of the Net Nominee 2021 Smiling at the Executioner Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears. - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations As if the open barrel were a lotus; its roots anchored in mud. How undeterred by murky water, it submerges and reblooms: petals like crystal glazed and without residue. As if you never felt something move: no welcome and prescient ache, no sudden flexing, no cycle taking shape. No memory. No calendar. No yield – because you are the bullet’s shield. As if you have nothing to lose. As if all that you have learned to love: the beating heart; the mythic glove of a palm blooming in the womb; the scent that follows touch – is suddenly dust. Just the open-grinned, white-toothed stare down this time; the stayed and steady practice on your knees of mastering someone else’s pleas. Copyright © 2020 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Published in Sky Island Journal , Summer 2020 Pushcart Prize Nominee 2020 Best of the Net Nominee 2021 Editor's comment: ...the epitome of what we consider powerful poetry to be. Vivid, palpable imagery saturates the perfect pacing of this svelte, knife-like piece. Full Review Previous Next

Index Previous Next Grading on a Curve Our cat rolls onto its back in freshly cut grass. A bluejay screeches, swoops down, flaps and flaps at his swatting paws. Above them, nestlings squawk. On the ground, an egg fallen or tossed—unhatched—from the nest inert, and yet, no signs of cracks. Hopeful my hand will not ruffle the jay, I lift the egg to its nest—new life or prey. . Copyright © 2025 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Published in Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art , Spring 2026, Issue 20.