A collection of poems by Joan Cassidy Vayo (1930-2019) and a few others.
A lyric poet, Joan (aka Mom) wrote poetry from her grade school years until just before her death at age 89.
Her work was published in Seventeen magazine, Yankee, America, and others. She self-published a collection of her poetry, titled when in the rain a snow.
Family blog posts tagged with Poems include her poems, plus writing from a few other family members.
It’s been nearly two centuries since Hans Christian Andersen wrote the fairy tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” Do you remember the story? Two con men trick the vain emperor, who thinks only of himself and his fancy clothes, no matter what the cost. They “weave” him a magnificent set of new clothes at great expense. The clothes are magical, in that they’re invisible to anyone who is incompetent or stupid. The emperor can’t see a stitch of the clothes –…
Every year about this time, the church picnics begin. Every weekend there’s one, and for decades the prime drawing card (and money-maker) was the same: Turtle Soup. Farmer Gary loves Turtle Soup. When I found a family recipe the other day, it got him to telling stories. Not just about the soup. About the man. Johnny Lange. The Turtle Man: Johnny Lange (pronounced “LONG-ee” … Gary would never forgive me if I didn’t add that Johnny had a brother whose…
Another letter from Mom to her aunt Sister Amabilis … Mom was 15 years old at the time. Sister Amabilis (aka Aunt Marguerite) was teaching first graders in the Hartford, Connecticut, area. Here’s the news (plus a poem) Mom sent on that July day in 1945: Dear Marguerite, We had a wonderful party on the Fourth of July. Joe was the real instigator and Grandma would do anything for him. There were hot dogs and cake, soda and watermelon. There…
This morning, while reading a book, I was reminded of buttercups. The young female protagonist was gifted a pin in the shape of a buttercup. As my cup of coffee kicked in, I started thinking back to my childhood. There was something about buttercups … It took a few minutes to piece it all together, but memories of Mom picking a tiny yellow flower and holding it under my chin gradually broke through the fog. “Let’s see … there it…
My godmother’s name fascinated me as a little kid. Her father’s name was George. Her mother’s name was Anna. And so they named their younger daughter Georgeanna. That formula sure wouldn’t have worked out as nicely for me. Haroldjoan doesn’t quite slide off the tongue as easily as Georgeanna. Born in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1932, Georgeanna Helen Lane grew up attending Catholic schools. It was at St. Joseph College that she met Mom. Sharing an interest in poetry, writing, books,…
Another piece of paper so old it’s turning brown and brittle. It’s newsprint, which seems to age as it comes off the press. But still, 1980 was 46 years ago. This is a poem Mom wrote in 1977. When her alma mater asked for a poem to print in the Summer 1980 edition of their Alumnae News, I’m not sure they expected this: the cold eye the cold eye sleeps on sunday the devil turns his back the witch sits…
It feels like a carnival game – Spin the Lucky Wheel – when I drop a search word in among the vast collection of Mom’s poetry. Sure enough, it being Tax Day, there’s a poem including the word taxes. Written in 1972, “Pilgrimage” reflects Mom’s thoughts about living close to her hometown of New Haven again, where there were relatives a-plenty. She loved them all dearly, but sometimes in her childhood years, she felt crowded. Pilgrimage Myself, who couldn’t tolerate…
The summer of 1975 was flying by. It was our second summer in Indiana and nearly time to pack middle-brother David off to college for his freshman year at I.U. Mom decided at the last minute to sign up for a relatively new program at Ball State University. The Midwest Writers Workshop was a summer conference for poets, novelists, and everything in between. Unfortunately, she received word that the poetry workshop was already at capacity. She was encouraged to sign…
Middle brother Dave recently came upon a poem our Grandma Cassidy mailed to him in 1975. Titled “To Joan,” she’d written this verse to our mother. Since this is World Poetry Day and Grandma’s birthday, we must share: Not that I would ever critique someone’s handwriting (sorry, Grandma), but in case you need a bit of help … “To Joan” Our Poet Your words of JoyThat your message bringsGives my heart a lift as it softly sings. Sadness and Strife…
I thought of Matt the other day. We were great friends in college – both performers in the Singing Hoosiers (think Glee, but in college). I can hear his booming bass voice to this day. Just this past Saturday, there was a note online that it was actor Michael Caine’s 93rd birthday. There was a story about how he and Quincy Jones, working together on The Italian Job movie, suddenly realized they were born on the same day – making…