In vivid word pictures and musical language, the five lyrical sections of Sun Soul Child Speaks reveal the many facets of the poet's life, from childhood in a sleepy town in southern Illinois, to adulthood in the flashing world of New York City.

In "Forgotten Years," we meet memorable characters from her childhood; in "Under Tofranil," she shares the joy and pain of an African American woman with Native American heritage in a multi cultural world; in "Song Weaves," one hears the melodies of her life in Fresh Meadows, NY; finally, in "For the Children," we see the freshness of the child in the poet. All in all, the book takes us on a fascinating journey into the soul of the poet.

A native New Yorker, graduate of the City College of New York, and retired school teacher from the New York City Board of Education and the Greenwich Japanese School, Lila Wheeler Duckett has lived in Fresh Meadows, a tree lined residential area in Flushing, NY, for more than thirty-five years. She and her husband, Philip, have raised two children, John and Dawn, who are now adults.

A lyric soprano, Lila has sung in various venues, and often incorporates singing with her poetry. A student of Indian classical music and the Japanese language and culture, when Lila isn't writing, she reads voraciously and does research for her various writing projects. Former president of the Fresh Meadows Poets, she believes that critiquing received at meetings of FMP helped develop her poetic voice.

MIS' ROSE

Mid-night dark, thin and short
With greased, straightened hair
Mis' Rose stood briskly chipper,
Calico neat, starched . . . spirit rare

She chewed ridged tobacco,
Dipped cans of bitter snuff
Her voice flowed southern honey,
Warm and soft, to smooth and buff

Liking to go fishing
In an old pond near Carbondale,
She kept cans of squiggly earth worms
Near her splinter covered water well

But Mis' Rose's loved occupation,
Her Saturday primary fare,
Was to force into genteel regulation
Just washed, tight, whipcord hair

One hot comb sizzled, smoking,
On a two burner, black coal stove
With the other, Mis' Rose, fingers stroking
Pressed singeing hot hair, row after row

"Chile, I saw you in church last Sunday
Are you doing good in school?
Be nice now, like your mother wants!"
Mis' Rose talked her Golden Rules

Steam singed scalp withered, sizzling
Smoke... burnt hair smothered air,
But Mis' Rose's voice caressed and bound you
To her corn ribbed, wooden chair

"Have some greens and porgies, honey
Would you like some cold Root Beer?"
Mis' Rose burnt and loved you
As she steam-shamed born-free hair

JOE GREEN'S