M.B. HENRY

So… where were we with this poetry series?  Those of you who have followed me for awhile might recognize it. A few years back, I tapped into my rhyming writer origins...

April 21, 1918. It’s a cold, clammy day, enveloped in billowing gray clouds. A scarlet triplane, marked with bold black crosses, hurdles towards the trench-scarred, soupy mud of Europe. The engine...

Is it me, or are bridges kind of fantastic? I don’t mean the concrete behemoth interstate overpasses, which are marvels of engineering, but not always the prettiest to look at. I...

I stood at the bottom of an open trench, the trees looming above me. When I popped my head up, I saw a wide open field through the grove. If an...

During these Covid days of no travel, which I have great hopes will end very soon, I have taken great pleasure in the many memories my husband and I have of...

About a month ago, my husband and I left the sunny shores of California and returned to the Midwest. While I adored my time on the West Coast (read about it...

NOTE: The following post is a bit different than my typical pieces here. You won’t find any talk about war, which is just crazy! 🙂 However, my husband and I are packing...

I’m afraid. Two words a lot of us don’t like to mention, at least not out loud. And certainly not in front of people we’re trying to impress. Honestly, I think...

Welcome back from the Holidays! It certainly looked different for the M.B. Henry household this year, with Covid keeping us from our usual travels and family visits. We had little to...

It’s a tale as old as time – or at least as old as the Great War. In 1914, on a frigid Christmas Eve in the middle of trench-scarred Western Europe,...