Carrying Forward Humanity with Sandra Beth Levy

Poet Sandra Beth Levy takes us through her journey as a poet and spoken word artist. From sharing how she navigates vulnerability to talking about upcoming projects, we get a glimpse into the life of a stellar artist and member of the Three Panels Press community and family. Additionally, Sandra shares some of her poems throughout the blog for readers to engage with and enjoy. 

Q: Every poet has a unique relationship with language. How do you know when a specific word or phrase has the right “weight” or resonance for a poem? Does it happen intuitively, or through rigorous editing?

A: It’s not a binary between “intuition” or “rigorous editing”. My first drafts are usually in notebooks, or in my Notes App on my phone. I must let myself take a journey, puzzle out a prompt in my head, or write from inspiration. Only afterwards do I edit. Sometimes I revise a poem many times—over months! Sometimes the original words and phrases carry a satisfying “weight”. Most often they provide a skeletal outline and help me to discover my message, my mood, the emotional space I sit in. All these elements are important to the poem that’s being born. Once I have a complete first draft, I usually go to the computer to type it out on Word where I can form its shape, rearrange lines, discard stanzas, and search for more precise adjectives and verbs to convey what I’m trying to express. I check back and forth between what feels right in my gut (intuitive) with what needs to happen to move the poem forward. The sound and cadence of the words is an important factor. Alliteration and enjambment are techniques I use to shape the rhythm and flow of a poem. However, if the word play does not flow from an authentic space, I go back to the drawing board. I read my poems out loud to hear them and then cut out weak phrases, or strengthen them with nouns, adjectives, verbs, and images that are original and sing to me in some way. 

Q: Writing poetry often requires a deep vulnerability. How do you navigate the boundary between sharing deeply personal, raw experiences and crafting something that feels universal to a reader?

A: I write from vulnerable and deep personal spaces within me, the life experiences that I’ve had, the truths that I know, and the existential and spiritual questions I struggle with. It’s my belief that only through these particulars can I reach the universal. Details bring intimacy for which there is no substitute. I believe that when I do this well and authentically, my work will resonate with others universally. A good portion of my poetry is based on memories and family stories. When I read these poems to other people, they often tell me they cry, or share them with their parents, or relate them to similar experiences of their own. I do, however, also use my imagination and project myself into dreamscapes, magical thinking, and take on the persona of an object or another person to explore my vision through those perspectives. For example, I have a poem titled “I am Mother Earth,” and another titled “FIRE” (the latter is forthcoming with Awestruck Press), where I speak in the voice of Mother Earth and the voice of Fire. These are intended to be universal, but they have personal elements in them that are meaningful to me. I have also used ekphrastic poetry (poems inspired by works of visual art) to explore more universal themes, such as in my poem “Silver Double Helix” in Issue 06 of Three Panels Press. In this poem, inspired by a moving photograph posted on Instagram by @arianne.clement.photography, I explore the experience of dementia and primary human connection, legacy, and the kind of knowing that is wordless. The photograph portrays emotional resonance between a great-grandfather with advanced dementia and his infant great-grandson. While not specifically my individual story, I witnessed my mother-in-law deteriorate from Alzheimer’s and experienced her deep humanity even in her last days.

Silver Double Helix

     after Arianne Clement’s photograph of Robert, 

     who had advanced dementia, meeting his great-grandson Clovis

I can’t remember my name when I meet you

but my arms reach out in embrace, lips

purr upon your crown, there’s a thumping 

inside our souls that spell morse code: 

you’re mine, I’m yours, you’re me, I’m you 

one cry, one soothing breath together

made of midnight gong, shining bells

smooth skin and furrowed brows

hands of veined leaves in shadows

the neck’s crevasse

tiny fingers curled back to birth

threads of bearded hair that dance 

a double helix—

generations collapsed in time

for now, we cuddle in silver grace

before and after words—rhythmic

wisdom of the heart

Q: Many writers speak of a “creative routine,” while others rely entirely on sudden bursts of inspiration. What does your day-to-day relationship with writing look like?

A: I wish to write daily, but that is not always the case. I do have a favorite spot at home where I write in the quiet of a three-sided windowed room. There, I can hear my voice while I see the trees around me, which makes it easier for me to hone in on what’s most emotionally present for me. This is usually when I write in my array of journals. If I miss a quiet daytime writing session, I sometimes write at night with my Notes App. I write for healing, due to inspiration, after a significant event or anniversary, and free-write for ten or fifteen minutes to exercise the muscle of my imagination and to push past my censors. Sometimes, I intentionally write using a prompt or a theme for submission to a literary journal. However, even when I miss days of writing new material, I am constantly thinking about writing, or I am reading poetry for pleasure to zero in on learning craft and to extend my awareness of the limitless possibilities of how one can write and what other creatives offer. I write in a monthly in-person group and take online workshops and generative writing classes. By far, I spend many more hours with revisions and edits of my work than I do writing the initial drafts. I write to process my grief and to celebrate those I love. An example of an inspiration poem is one I wrote directly after visiting my mother’s grave. An initial version was published this June by Anomaly Poetry in their 2026 Rituals collection available on Amazon. A slightly revised version will appear as a mini zine this September as part of the 2026 PVD Poetry Crawl, distributed to local cafés to make free and accessible poetry available to the public.

At Swan Point Cemetery

on this Tenth Anniversary of Your Death

sweet magnolia branches arch over us

hug my quaking arms outstretched

kiss me pink with fragrant lips 

dance in swaying skirts

hum into a sky of baby blue

a gentle invitation for me

to recall white wisps of your hair

shiny and soft as I shimmer blue

in the way a note is blue 

when it drops sweet longing

in my chest, in the way a splash

of ocean tints my face with blue

refracted light from the sea

in the way your lips were blue

when I found you in death’s hands

my stomach plunged to the floor

a blue silence surrounding you

who birthed me into a world 

both harsh and silken—

at your gravesite

I wonder how time is torn to bits 

in spring’s warm breath

Q: Silence and white space on a page can say just as much as the words themselves. How do you approach the visual layout and pacing of your poems to guide how they are read and felt?

A: There is no single way I approach the visual layout and pacing of a poem. I often experiment with form to find the right fit for a subject. The following nature inspired poem is one that evolved from a much earlier poem titled “Floating,” (about my experience of feeling supported while floating on water). I changed it into a poem about renewal titled “Rebirth”. It was published this summer in RI Bards 2026 by Small Gems Press. By taking elements of the old poem, writing couplets, and having many of the lines complete themselves across the white space between the stanzas, I gave it an ethereal, organic, and metaphoric feel.

Rebirth Me

in an ocean of salted 

sun, bareback rhythmic

rise, sea skin rippled green

hair of scalloped weeds 

undulant between 

open sky and ocean deep

mother’s lips and lover’s breath –

a moistened mouth that welcomes 

me, holy as a bird that bobs

a frothy flow before it flies 

free. Let crystal waters

rock me in a chair of waves

upon pillows tufted in

a cacophony of colors –

a dawn of dreams

as my eyes flicker open

in a realm

of new beginnings.

Q: Is there a specific poem or collection you’ve written that completely surprised you during the drafting process, perhaps going in a direction you never intended?

A: I was surprised by the direction a poem took when I drafted it during a fifteen-minute free-write session. We had just survived a harsh winter in New England with an enormous amount of snow and ice, while at the same time the other ICE was increasingly merciless and murderous. I began my draft with those thoughts in my mind and wondered if I would write a climate change or social justice piece (more accurately, social injustice). I was surprised by the unfamiliar voice that emerged, in which I became the embodiment of natural and existential processes. While the poem indirectly referenced thoughts I had when I entered my drafting session, it became deeper and more expansive. I lightly edited the original draft to make it more precise and sharpened some images, but in large part it stayed the same. I was thrilled when Nettle Literary accepted it for publication in their spring 2026 issue. 

Melt Me

I am frozen solid. A rock-hard candy 

refusing to melt. My molecules squeak  

like rubber sneakers on linoleum. 

What if I thaw and become puddle, flood, river 

rollicking robust remnant of my former self 

structure broken down – 

rushing earth’s landscape carving disarray and beauty. 

I become Mother Nature 

peek through dark woods to witness stars shoot the sky

an indigo universe that tantalizes beyond – 

a precious, precarious, evolving, spiritual expansion of souls. 

I thaw soft as whispers on a first date 

hope disintegration gives rise to bright new testaments of time 

ticking in slow motion. I both merge and reemerge

return home to tired bones renewed. 

Come, come, my friends and allies

quiet my frothing litany of thoughts. 

Help crack my atomic innards

to power living beings 

whose destinies, like shadows, have been cast aside. 

Melt me into transformation. 

Q: The landscape of poetry is shifting rapidly with digital media, spoken word, and collaborative art formats. How do you see the role of the modern poet evolving in today’s world?

A: I began my intensive journey with poetry in spoken word performance poetry about three years ago, and then took a turn to page poetry, publishing in both print and digital media forums. I still participate in open mics in-person and feature locally in and around Providence, Rhode Island on a regular basis, frequently participating in three venues a week (and showing up on a regular basis to around ten). I received the judges’ pick for the 2026 Spoken Award from RI Motif Magazine for “Most Supportive of Open Mics”. I am active in multiple Instagram poet communities and participate with various journals, programs, and presses in that space, as well as on Zoom, YouTube programs, and podcasts. I love ekphrastic poetry and relished an opportunity to write a poem in response to a visual artist’s collage that was displayed alongside other collaborating poets and visual artists in a local gallery night. I think it’s important to be flexible in today’s multifaceted world, to form relationships in-person and online, to collaborate with others, and to be inspired by and in conversation with multiple art forms. 

Q: Looking ahead, what can you tell us about your upcoming book or current work-in-progress? What themes or stylistic shifts are you exploring right now?

A: I have a debut poetry chapbook coming out with Finishing Line Press, titled, Unfurling The Scroll Of Seven Decades. It will be available for presale through the publisher at the end of October 2026 and officially launch in print at the end of February 2027. In the book, I expose what it was like for me to navigate the world as a Jewish-American female under the shadow of my father’s incarceration and reveal ways in which this wounded me, helped me grow, and shaped my worldview. The poems deal with trauma, loss, longing, shame, social stigma, struggles with patriarchal paradigms, the evolution of a personal spirituality, and how I managed to “excavate nourishment” from an impoverished environment to become the woman, adult daughter, spouse, and loving mother I desired to be. I invite the reader to join me on an intimate journey of remembrance, reflection, and transformation. While my pain is on full display in many of the poems, I also invite the reader to celebrate my victories, bathe in my love, and resonate with how “hope whispered” to me always.

I am in the process of beginning to put together my first full collection of poetry and am still undecided about what thematic and stylistic direction to take this project. I have written and published many poems since the completion of my chapbook manuscript and am now considering where I wish to move with my craft and what’s most pressing for me personally to explore and share through writing.

Q: To close and zoom out from poetry to the broader creative landscape, why are art and its history important to us, both as individuals and as a society?

I see creativity as the force that propels us forward, individually, and collectively. Love and compassion form the medium in which we develop as healthy humans and social beings. Creativity is the life force we are gifted to make meaning, form narratives, and transform ourselves and our world. Art carries culture and by preserving it and fostering its evolution, we can take a step back and understand our history. The Nazis burned books and our society is burning them again. Genocide and historical erasure are plagues, perpetrated by unhealthy societies. Unfortunately, we are in a globally tumultuous time where, whether we reckon with it or not, we’re on the verge of destroying ourselves. In this context, art is a necessity to carry forward humanity, and often a radical act of resistance.