Ellen Kay

BIOGRAPHY

Ellen Kay is an American poet who has been writing poetry for many years as a means of self-expression and as a record of family memories. She graduated with the degree of Bachelor of Arts with Distinction in the studies of English, French and Spanish and later earned a Master of Science degree in the field of Education. She has been a lifelong writer and teacher, having taught students at the high school level as well as at the university. She has published her poems in two publications, written an essay for a third publication and presented numerous poems for oral presentations. The mother of two, she has included poetry as part of her children’s lives.

 

Address:   Ohio  USA

 

Residence:  Dayton, Ohio, USA

 

Date of Birth: 2 October, 1940

 

Family:  married, one son, one daughter, three grandchildren

 

Present Teaching:  Sinclair Community College, 444 W. Third Street, Dayton, Ohio, 45424. (Spanish language)

 

Former Teaching: The Miami Valley School,  Dayton, Ohio 45429.  (Spanish language and literature, French language and literature, Latin language).  Kettering Public Schools. (English language). Oakwood Public Schools (French). Centerville Public Schools (French).  Cincinnati Public Schools (Spanish).

 

Publications:  (The University of Dayton Journal of Education 1968, Dayton, Ohio, 45469).  The article was written following research into the learning skills of seventh grade students.  It describes methods for teaching writing to young students ages 12-14.  The article discusses how that age of student likes to write about feelings and about things they know and dream of in an environment free of the fear of rejection and embarrassment.  The age needs to be encouraged and given parameters that help with construction such as story starters, interview guidelines and exercises in sentence combining in order to produce more interesting sentence structures. The goal of the exercises is to develop clarity, increase self confidence and develop artistic expression and organization.

 

 She graduated with the degree of

 Bachelor of Arts with Distinction in the studies

 of

• English
  
• French
  
• Spanish

 

 SHORT STORIES

Belonging

by Ellen Kay

                Westerville. The farm. A magical place it was, Grandpa Norris’ farm. Something was always happening there. There were wheelbarrow races, ghost stories in the haymow, cousins from California and Africa and Puerto Rico, the rope swing hanging from the old elm tree by the circular driveway.  I remember the apples in the basket on the back porch and the crackling crunch when Grandpa bit into a Jonathan, his favorite.

There was always chatter in the kitchen while Grandma with my mother and the aunts prepared sumptuous meals that we ate all crowded around the table in the dining room.  We tried to disappear at mealtime so that we did not have to go down to the springhouse to carry a bucket of water up the hill for the cooks. I remember how much fun we had that Thanksgiving we were stranded there in the snowstorm. We made paths through the pasture and forts and snowmen.

I loved the black and white cows in the pasture, and watching Grandpa milk the cows was a special treat. I remember the year cousin Harold stepped in a fresh cow pie and we laughed and laughed. I remember going to church and giggling. How embarrassing! We giggled a lot, especially all piled into bed and even after Dad or Aunt Marianne would climb the stairs to tell us, “It’s time to go to sleep!” in their most serious voices.

Whenever we could, we ran behind the barn to watch the trains speed by and to wave exuberantly to the engineer and the man in the caboose.  It was a great year when they built a Dairy Queen right where the railroad tracks crossed the road into town. I remember the contests to see who could get the closest to that ice cream store without falling off the railroad rail.  And, it was a contest of courage to see who could jump from the haymow to the manger below or who would go down into the dark basement of the house. I jumped out of the haymow, but I NEVER went near the basement.

                The farm is gone now. In its place is a KFC restaurant exactly where the farmhouse had stood. The barn and the springhouse are gone, too, and the pastures. The cousins all got together a few years ago, and it didn’t matter that most of us hadn’t seen each other for twenty-five years. The years melted away and we still belonged to that loving family from the farm at Westerville.

                                                                                              By Ellen Kay (1997) (Updated 2003)

 

 POETRY

 

 

 

THE SILENCE OF NATURE

I sit in my boat

And drift with the breeze

Enjoying the silence,

The absence of noise

 

All that I see

Are blues, greens and whites

Water and trees

And clouds in the sky

 

A soundless blue heron

Creeps up on a fish

A duck glides right by

With effortless poise

 

I slowly breathe in

The fresh country air

The scent of the pines

Is soothing and pure

 

Plop! A fish breaks

The surface catching a beetle

Gone with no sign

But a circle of ripples

 

Whoosh!  A high flying

Flock of migrating birds

On thousands of wings

Pushing them south

 

Kerplunk! …A turtle dives

From his log in the sun

Sliding with grace

To the cool of the deep

 

Smack! …A beaver slaps

Its tail on the water

Warning its kits

That people are near.

 

The raspy cicadas give warning

That summer is fading

While crickets tune up for

Their orchestra night.

 

I hear the birds

Too many to remember…

Finches and swallows

Cardinals and wrens

 

The silence of nature

Is gloriously loud

Filling the ears with

       Songs of the wild          

 

Ellen Kay 

 
ROOTS

 

There are those who feel

                their roots in the land

                of their ancestors,

                in the histories of          

                those who’ve gone before.

               

Our roots are the paths that we

                choose for ourselves:

                the schools, the jobs,

                the colleagues we meet,

                the experiences of life.

 

We have roots in the traditions,

                the customs, the morals,

                the joys and the traumas

                we learn from our parents,

                our siblings, our children.

               

Our roots are our friendships

                nourished through life

                by trust and faith,

                by giving and sharing

                the treasures of life.

               

Our roots come from the past

                from all we experience.

                We learn all through life,

                becoming the roots

                for our children and others.

 

                                                               Ellen Kay

                                                               March 18, 2003

 

 

 
THE BARN

 

There was a lovely old barn

In Westerville

                Just south of town

                On the 3-C road.

My grandfather’s barn…

                Tall and cozy and gray,

                A marvelous barn,

                A treasure trove

                Of adventure and fun.

My favorite part was the haymow,

                A magical place

                For ghost stories at dusk

And squealing games

Of hide and seek.

I remember the day        

I finally turned brave

                And jumped from the haymow

                To the manger below…

I felt so grown up!

I still feel the excitement

                Of wheelbarrow races,

                Those championship scrambles,

                Tearing like mad from the barn

To the springhouse.

I loved Grandpa’s cows…

                Their black and white coats

                So warm in the winter;

                Their gentle munching

In the heat of the summer,

The soft chiming of their bells

                As they came in a row      

                From pasture to barn

                In time for their milking

                At the end of the day

I loved that old barn…

 

                                                               Ellen Kay

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 MY OHIO

 

 

I love the gently rolling hills of Ohio,

         The eastern hills all covered with forests of green,

         The vast flat northern pasturelands dotted with farms

Where cattle and sheep peacefully graze in the sun

I love the watery beauty of the northern shore

         With the excitement of ever changing Lake Erie

         Calmly serene in leisurely summer daylight

         Or stormy and wild during some long winter nights

I love the crops that help feed our hungry nation

         The fields of corn and wheat, tomatoes and pumpkins

         Peaches and pears, apples and cherries for cobblers

         Strawberries for shortcakes and berries on ice cream

I love the wildness of animal habitats

         Deer with their young and birds nesting in the treetops

         Wildflowers galore to tempt every visitor

         Winding roads and rivers and lakes for enjoyment

I love the fine arts of both cities and country

         Museums of art works and music hall concerts

         Operas and symphonies, dramas and comedy

         Festivals of quilting and downhome handiworks

I love this birthplace of presidents, inventors

         And astronauts, poets, authors and musicians