I am an English Teacher at Provo Canyon School in Provo, Utah. I have been teaching for 21 years, everything from American Literature to Creative Writing. I also have a degree in History and have also taught US and World History. Along with those degrees,
+ more bio informationI go to church early because I have this notion that in the quiet chapel I will hear a still small voice of inspiration. I don't. Usually, when my hands are dirty with potting soil, or while surrounded with bubbles in the bathtub or even as I wait for the bell to ring to start my first period class do I feel that familiar pr... More..
Outside of San Antonio, 1898 Sore and weary feet couldn't move fast enough in the thick, waist-tall, razor-sharp Texan grass. He had already fled more than two miles in the darkness. Seared and swollen arms pumped; scraped knees rose frantically. While his heart pounded in the back of a parched throat, an excruciating pain a... More..
Southern Utah 1901 The bent and dented wagon lumbered along a seldom used track. The wind rustling the tops of the grass heightened an erie silence coming from the wagon box. Powell held the trembling, fevered child. If they could have, they would have made camp by the Green River. Sarah would have built a sweat lodge and ke... More..
An Egyptian Love Poem Secret brother, my hear, like the endless Nile, calls to thee on a hot wind over the dunes outside thy well lit but silent house. My body, like a mourning lotus blossom opening for Aton's rays awaits thy coming like an eager student for her master. My spirit, like a soft caress of a feather across a tro... More..
Some relish the sweet memories of innocence when looking back on one's childhood, while others dread it as they might a dark demonic monster under a bed or in an unlit closet. I have memories which live with a vividness of a video recorder, but the darker ones have blurry corners and tattered edges. Many of these examined mo... More..
Camp had become a quiet town in the sleepy darkness. Sentries paced in the calm chill of the gloom, shifting their weapons from shoulder to shoulder, shuffling tired feet in the damp grass. Typical night sounds, mating cicadas, chirps of frog and crickets, and arrhythmic resonance of snoring men added to it flavor. In a tent... More..
As the dappled yellow sun streamed into my small bathroom a few years ago, I had a vision of a luxurious retreat of tile and stone, a jetted tub with a mountain of soft white towels within easy reach while gleaming fixtures winkled at me as if we shared an intimate secret. But when I blinked, the 1950's poor man's bathroom I... More..
Beth Boldman
Articles Written: 7