Ken Nye

Rookie (April 26,1942 / Lincoln, Nebraska)

Biography of Ken Nye

I am 65 years old. I just retired from 42 years in the field of public education, first as a high school English teacher, then as a high school principal (for 23 of those 42 years) , and finishing up my career with 12 years as a university professor of educational leadership. I loved what I did, but I was ready to retire.

Four years ago I started writing poetry. I began with a poem for my wife, Ann, my life partner for 45 years. We are quite close, have known each other since we were twelve, were high school sweethearts, yaddi yaddi, yadda, and are still in love. For the most part, my poetry is very personal. I write from my own experience, about my own relationships, do some philosophizing, express some disappointments, but am generally pretty up-beat about life and the world around us.

I have Parkinson's disease (been diagnosed 11 years) which is beginning to complicate our lives, but we are working around it.

We have two children, three and a half grandchildren (#4 due in a few months) , two dogs, a lovely home, wonderful friends. I have lived (still am living) an idyllic, fairy tale life that probably makes some people sick. Whenever I needed a break in life, I got it.

I am a lover of the natrual world, have lived my adult life in Maine and taken advantage of all Maine has to offer in terms of outdoor recreation and spirit building.

My poetry is about my life, the people around me and the beautiful and wondrous natural world that surrounds us here in Maine.

Ken Nye's Works:

'Searching for the Spring: Poetic Reflections of Maine.'
TJMF Publishing,2005.

'From the Heart: Poetic Reflections on Growing Old in Maine.' TJMF Publishing,2007.


both books are available on Amazon.com.

PoemHunter.com Updates

Searching For The Spring

I’d been told our spring water comes down the hill
through an underground pipe,
from 'a spring by the wall, about 500 yards in back of the barn.'

Expecting to simply go find the spring,
I head up the hill along the stone wall.
It’s not easy going. Halfway up,
the impenetrable forest of scrub pines and firs
starts forcing me away from the wall.

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