Jo Tyler

You want to read

my body of work.

There is no body.

There are just

parts: neck,


hip, calf.


Parts do not

make a body.

Parts attached

make a body.

So what

is in between?


There is a

Chinese word –

liú bái –

which you say

as though asking

a question.

It means

to leave blank.


A space, a pause,

a moment. Not idle

but waiting

for a connection made


by an eye,

by an ear,

by a heart.


Hand, but no



Spirit, but no



Pen, but no





Jo Tyler is a queer poet, storyteller, and visual artist. A former Penn State professor and Fortune 500 Vice President, Jo retired into the social vacuum of Covid-19, and returned to poetry after decades of writing prose in business and academia. Delighted to be building a community of creative writers, she holds an abiding belief in the power of small groups to accomplish great things, from achieving social justice in organizations to workshopping a poem that just isn’t quite there yet. A member of the Maryland Writers' Association, Jo lives in Baltimore with her wife Gail and her dog Moxie.