I’ve often wondered if I didn’t inherit my love of words and writing from my parents, both of them, kitchen table poets; in the DNA so to speak.

Kitchen Table Poetry? Folks who like to dabble or even write on a regular basis, but have no desire to share their work, except for maybe a small circle of family and friends. Also known as closet poets or poetry. Which is fine, for as I’ve often contended, writing is first and foremost, good therapy.

While going through their memorabilia today, I came across a couple of pieces of yellow paper with dad’s handwriting on them. The ink had faded to some degree, but with a little scrutiny, the words still legible. One of my favorites is in the first image below.

I know at one point; mom was writing a history of the family, but as I recall, never finished it. And I have yet to come across it in the memorabilia.

She did write a poem however, about the family summer getaway at Baskin’s Beach, near Dunrobin, Ontario, also included below.









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09/23/2023

Posted on 09/23/2023
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti