Hi! My name is Samantha Rae Lazar. Thank you for taking the time to read my little auto-bio. I began writing on Medium in June 2019, and I am in love with this platform, even with all of its challenges and changes. It has become the writing community I have always craved.
I have been a writer since I could write and a humanities teacher (English/Language Arts, Social Studies/History) since 1998. I have lived the school schedule since I was in pre-school. I buy new planners/calendars in June. I currently teach 5th grade.
I live and work in a beautiful…
About my process as a writer
Zay Pareltheon just published an interview with me in Scrittura. I am feeling a little giddy. Thank you all for giving it a read.
Thank you to ◦•●❄ Christina M. Ward ❄●•◦, The POM’s E.I.C. for putting together such an engaging and uplifting event for our publication and Facebook group.
Here is a summary of my “scavenger hunt” finds so far.
Find one poetry article on The POM and read it. Leave a comment to tell the author what you learned from the article.
Play with fire and laugh, fall on the floor, close to the singed carpet. She bleeds there too in the same space. Maybe it was her period, rubbing the hot spots raw, like a dog in heat.
High school, laughter and the dose slips off her mouth onto the same spot. Bragging that she’s going somewhere else, try to find her, give her pets, like the poodle she is. Pick it up in a five-second-rule game, place it back on her tongue. Sniff the ground for spills.
How deep will she go into the opiate cave before she knows/cares something’s…
the last time the wind
crashed the basketball goal
we left it there on the driveway
with an oblong hoop and rusting bolts
awakening daffodils poke through
the unpruned garden
wet black-eye-susan skeletons
burnt out like spent sparklers
ruts left by Mom’s 4-Runner
muddy trails from a drive-by birthday
wet, robin feet, squirrels dance
my yellow dog digs a trench
the camellia bush bursts red
chubby buds heavy the branches
a surprise bluejay
a study in primary colors
a sink hole threatening
like the ice storm threatening
our foundation on soggy paper
the solar bulbs afire only once this week
I hope you are all staying safe and warm where you live. Here in NC, the ground is saturated, and the cold rain continues. But muddy paws and disappointing impeachment trials aside, the beautiful words of this publication help keep me going. Thank you so much for your continued readership, and to our writers, thank you for filling our lives with your thoughts and art.
Did you know we now have an editor’s picks page? Please take a look! The featured pieces from January are:
Is it true that kids don’t stay?
I tell him, even when he’s old and gray,
After all his phases free and wild,
A mother’s child is always her child.
Today just blows me away. My baby is ten. I was told “not to blink”. That old saying rings true about most things in life. To me, the growth of a child is the most substantial time warp. Ten years ago exactly now as I write this, my son was born. I write for him.
Deep brown eyes, dimpled smile, a magical white patch of hair as a birthmark. An…
Poetry, fiction, and essays in celebration of being a Mom, Wife, Educator, Writer, & Lover of Life.