The latest news:  in April, 2019 Jeanne’s book of sonnets, Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking, was published by Paraclete Press. 

Jeanne Murray Walker is the award-winning author of 9 volumes of
poetry and one memoir as well as a number of plays which have been
performed in theaters across the country and in London. She is an
Emeritus Professor at The University of Delaware, where she taught
for 40 years and headed the Creative Writing Concentration.  Jeanne
currently serves as a poetry Mentor in The Seattle Pacific Low
Residency MFA Program
.  From her home outside Philadelphia
she blogs about the troubling politics of our time, reading and writing,
and the surprising power of stillness.   She travels widely to speak
and read her poems in places ranging from The Library of Congress
to Romania, from Italy to Texas Canyon Country. You can find her
papers and letters archived at Wheaton College’s Buswell Library
and at The University of Delaware’s Morris Library. Jeanne has
appeared on PBS television and is frequently interviewed on the radio.

A Note from Jeanne

I’m delighted you’ve stopped by. Please linger a while to browse. Read some poems. Check out my blog and speaking schedule.  If you’re near an event where I’ll be speaking, feel free to attend. If you’d like to read my blog click here.  We can join forces to work for a more thoughtful world.

Jeanne Murray Walker


I’ve seen 24,300 sunrises, maybe more,
     but this morning, the plump
sun sings the sky awake as if
     it were the first time.  I’m rusty at the feeling
of surprise, so I get down to business,
     practicing appreciation, telling myself
that light is an aria rolling
     an exotic language on the tongue
of our green lawn.   And then I think
     why bother with an opera?

Make it simple.  Come into this poem, sun. 
     Shine.   But what about tomorrow,
when my kids leave home, my mother
     can’t recall my name, when rain slides
its little thumbs down our window pane
     all morning?  Then I say to my self–who remembers
nothing simple–self, then remember,
     the sun is a fat diva, still
singing her head off somewhere
     behind the clouds, above the rain.