Steps In Between

Celaine Charles ~ My journey as a writer.

Poetry Friends


Works from Poetry Friends…

I am proud to introduce poetry from some incredible writing friends. The authors are listed alphabetically, as to show no favoritism, because they are each unique and worthy poets. I can’t thank them enough for sharing their work.

Introducing (alphabetically):

Yvonne Brewer

Pamela Hobart Carter

Clare Glynn Chitan

Martha Maria

Tamara Miles

Jenny Ni Ruiseil

Melissa Steffy

Ann Christine Tabaka

April Thompson


Yvonne Brewer tree pic Fiona Fox

Picture by Fiona Fox

I See Faces, by Yvonne Brewer

For as long
as I’ve known

I see faces
in strange




I saw
your face
in a fallen tree

as always
it didn’t

Yvonne Brewer is originally from County Offaly and lives in Cork, Ireland and has had poetry published since 2014 with Women’s Spiritual Poetry, including in their fourth anthology “Goddess: When She Rules: Expressions of Contemporary Women”. (Dec 2017) Motherhood has taken her down a very creative path and her writing is greatly influenced by her children, her dreams, nature and fairies.
In 2013 Yvonne self published an e-book called “Breathe and Bloom. Soul Mother Meditations”
She also has had poetry published with the Blue Nib and her poetry has been read on several audio poetry radio shows of American poet Tamara Miles “Where the Light Most Falls” broadcast by

Yvonne’s Website:


Pam Carter

Image by Creative Commons,

Soothing Perspectives, by Pamela Hobart Carter

I like the idea
that we’re seeing
into a parallel universe
when we imagine things.

I’ve had that
as a working theory
for a while now.
Helps alleviate
some of the agita
from this world.

I always wonder
what of the things
we see in fiction
are really true

My other trick
is scale–to think
of myself as
a small animal
on a spinning globe. Yes.

The universe is
much bigger than
any transitory issues here.

Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side. My most recent poems. My websites.


Clare's poem frosty night

Image Link:

Frosty Night, by Clare Glynn Chitan


I greet the changing seasons of the year

That hoary frost that leaves a silvery tear

Foggy clouds that rest on trees

Moisture slowly dripping in the breeze


While droplets glisten in the air

The cold that seeps and permeates the earth

Put seeds to sleep until the warmer light

A wolf she howls and chills the bones of night


The silvery ghost of winter nights

Her gown glistening in bright light

As moonbeams move in elegant delight

Hail to the moon that walks the night

And covers all she sees in silver light

Writing poetry and prose has immersed me in occupation. I have no time to grow old; I am too busy, now that the floodgates have opened. I have dipped my toe in the waters of creativity. I can see creativity all around. The one who paints the nails in imaginative ways ,styles hair in exotica. Groups putting the world to right, craftsmen in their trade. Dentist creating a new smile. We are all creative; some have not recognised it as yet.

Clare Glynn Chitan’s Website:


martha maria poem

Image Link:

Before the Storm, by Martha Maria


Over cast, heavy

and damp, the morning sky rides

the tawny backs of

slumbering mountains


Too silent the birds

too still the woods; nary a

breath stirs lank leaves; not

a lizard or bug to be seen

the sole sound

my feet striking ground

as I traipse the valley alone

Martha lives in a small white house in the woods in the shadow of the Cumberland Mountains, in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. That little white house is also where most of her music is produced and recorded. When she’s not playing music, she’s wife to Bob and mother to Joseph and Walker.

Martha Maria’s website:


Tamara Miles poem

Image by Creative Commons,

The Haunting Happens at Certain Times…

by Tamara Miles (Irish and English Translation)

The following poems are “found poems,” in the sense that all Irish Gaelic phrases are borrowed from the Foras na Gaeilge‘s New English-Irish Dictionary and then built and shaped into poetry in various combinations in English. I am not a native speaker of Irish Gaelic, but I am an interested learner, and have traveled to that beautiful green country in October, 2017 to give a poetry reading (in English). Using simple phrases without the option of greater sentence variety/structure has taught me to contain the essence of what I want to say in a tighter, more succinct, yet vivid manner. The poem is presented first in Irish Gaelic, followed by the English version. The Irish poems have little punctuation or capitalization, following the form in which they are found in the original format. Foras na Gaeilge has provided permissions for use of the phrases.

The Haunting Happens at Certain Times…

Bionn taibhsi ann ag amanna ar…

scal solas na gréine ar an gcnoc

pictiúr d’ábhar neamhbheo
cantaireacht Ghréagórach
bláthanna teach téacháin

thit scáil ar an doras
bhuail ga gréine an bord

fear atá tógtha san fhuil
uisce beatha te

maidhm charraige le fána
tuile agus trá na taoide

rún daingean 

thosaigh sé ag cogarnach
lagaigh an ghaoth

The Haunting Happens at Certain Times 

boggy ground,

sunlight fell on the hill –


a still life painting,

Gregorian chant,

hothouse flowers –


a shadow fell over the doorway,

a ray of sunlight fell across the table —


a hot-blooded man,

hot whiskey,


a fall of rocks down the slope,

the rise and fall of the tide,


a closely guarded secret.


His voice fell to a whisper.

The wind fell.


Tamara Miles teaches college English and Humanities. Her poetry has appeared in Fall Lines; Pantheon; O’Bheal Five Words, Tishman Review; Animal; Obra/Artifact; Rush; Apricity; Snapdragon; Crosswinds Poetry Journal; Whatever Our Souls, Cenacle, and Oyster River Pages. A 2016 contributor at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and a resident at Rivendell Writers Colony in August, 2017. She has an audio poetry journal/radio show at called “Where the Most Light Falls.”

Tamara Miles Facebook Page:


Jenny Ni Ruiseil poem

Image Link:

Poem by Jenny Ní Ruiséil


A cycle complete

From its unconscious beginnings,

to the inklings of awareness;

Some heeded, some hindered.

Some hauled mercilessly into the open;

here, we no longer hide.

Baring all a constant discovery.

Creation, destruction, layer by layer sinking teeth into that which we once

forbade ourselves to touch,

Spices of what we’re made of – sweet, sour, bitter, pungent – sprinklings of

antidotes to simmer down and regroup.

Each feeling is a flavour.

Tasting it all – full nourishment, full circle, full embodiment, light and laughter.

Toes disappearing into sand –

the waves above a salty reminder of humanity

and the minute blip of this

Single, solitary cycle.

Returning to the shore,

We start again.

Hi there – my name is Jenny!
I’m primarily a Yoga teacher, writer, and musician, yet I try to include creative aspects to all of my work and everyday life – no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I believe that as creative beings, we humans have the responsibility and power to continuously redefine, create and manifest our ideal lives. The healing and empowering properties of the ancient Hatha Yoga practices are something which have helped me in this area, aiding in my recovery from and management of anxiety and other mental health issues, and inspiring me to start sharing some of these skills, observations and techniques with the world.

Jenny Ni Ruiseil’s Website:


Melissa Steffy Boxwoods poem

Image by Creative Commons,

The Wooing, by Melissa Steffy


Heavy boxwood perfume


untouched by the brisk winds

flitting amongst updrafts

and downdrafts

chittering chatter

songs smatter

come here

come here

I love you dear

look here

tinsel and twigs

bottle caps and grass sprigs

can’t you see

puffing breast

sing my best

how much I love thee

Melissa Steffy is a person, like many on this planet, and yet unique, as we all are. She hopes for better for her children, for humanity and for this place that we call home. Her words come from things she’s seen, good and bad. Thank you for reading her words, for feeling whatever feeling they bring for you. Perhaps you have your own story to write.


Waiting, by Ann Christine Tabaka


Hard back wooden chairs

dull pale green walls

minutes morph into hours

thoughts rush forward then retreat

racing back into the blackness


Outside, morning rain falls softly

reminiscent of an old song

with emotions rising to the tune

like so many smoke clouds

evaporating into the atmosphere


Poppy seed salad dressing

added to the grocery list

phone calls need to be returned

the black cat on the video cries

bringing reality back in focus


Time has no master but itself

and so the day continues

like a ping pong game of the mind

where no one loses

and no one wins


Notebook resting on a lap

words written on a page

conclude the next chapter

all the while sitting

in a hard back wooden chair


*Published in Quail Bell Magazine,

Ann Christine Tabaka is a nominee for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She placed Third in Vita Brevis Best Poem Contest both January & February 2018. Her Interview on Spillwords was voted Publication for the Month for March 2018. She was selected as Poet of the Month for January 2018 and interviewed by Kingdoms in the Wild. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Bindweed Magazine, The Metaworker, Raven, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review. *(a complete list of publications is available upon request)
april's poem

Pumpkin Spice Latte, by April Thompson


Autumn breeze runs through leaves

On trees of changing color


Swooping strands of hair let down

Wearing my favorite sweater


Chilly hands embrace my cup

Of aromatic bliss


Taste of Fall, sweet creamy spice

Feels heavenly and indulgent


The seasons warmth flows through each sip

And fills me with enchantment


April Thompson has been writing for some time now, and with all three of her children in school, she has found a few magical hours to create and share.

Celebrating Friends…

Thank you for reading the poetry of some of my writing friends. Please let me know if you might like to join us with some of your own poetry on this page. Let’s continue to lift each other up.