This summer is going to be a doozy: Our eldest daughter is about to climb behind the wheel of our family van. Yikes. Stop the clock already.

I wish we could go back in time, start off a bit more slowly, savor all those delicious growing-up moments, even delay taking those training wheels off her bike a bit longer. How has time flashed by so quickly?

Of course, this also means that my husband’s next anniversary of successful cancer treatment will be his sixteenth. Thank God. And thank chemo.

At the time of his diagnosis, I was four months pregnant; and dealing with both — expecting our first child and watching Thom endure his many long chemo days, plus surgeries — often seemed overwhelming. After his diagnosis, almost instinctively, I wrote a poem about our situation. It started like this:

I write the words that are true: My husband has cancer.

I write the words that may be true: My husband is dying.

Writing those words was terrifying — and therapeutic. Even though I was a published poet, I had fallen out of the poetry habit. But pregnancy and cancer turned on the tap: And poetry offered the best way to crystallize my feelings and, sometimes, cope with the unimaginable. Shortly after my husband ended his treatment and our daughter was born (the same month!), I launched a national cancer-related poetry anthology, inviting patients and survivors, spouses and partners, family members, friends and health-care practitioners — from oncologists to social workers — to submit cancer-related poems.

At first, receiving a few envelopes in my mailbox was thrilling, but as I returned again and again to a mailbox packed with envelopes, I was awed by how many of us write poetry to cope with and surmount cancer. From 1,200 submissions, my editorial team selected 140 of the best — poems that deal with denial, anger and grief, plus hope, joy and even humor.

Since then, rarely a week goes by that I don’t hear from Cancer Poetry Project readers about how particular poems touch them and how often they feel moved to write their own. This April, The Cancer Poetry Project 2 was published — again, with roughly 140 outstanding poems gleaned from the compelling, moving submissions.

Perhaps you already write poetry to deal with life’s challenges or celebrations. If not, I highly recommend giving it a try. Numerous poets included in The Cancer Poetry Project books are first-timers. One new poet confessed, “Until now, my poems only lived in spiral notebooks.” Thankfully, for readers of The Cancer Poetry Project, she bravely submitted poetry, and today, her poem, “Yet There Is Still Beauty,” is included in the latest collection.

If you’d like to get started writing your own poetry, here’s an easy primer:

1. Read poetry, lots of poetry, and reread favorites. Poems by Billy Collins, former U.S. poet laureate, are a great place to start if you’re new to writing poetry. His plain language and often quirky take on everyday happenings make his poems favorites to return to again and again.

2. Write a poem or three. Two years ago, I was beginning a blog and asked a fellow blogger for advice. “Just begin,” she advised. And she was right. I would say the same thing about writing poetry. Just begin.

3. Don’t edit yourself — at first. Just let the words flow. You can always come back and edit later. Rarely is a poem finished in its first inking. I just read about a poet who tweaks her poems upwards of 100 times each. (Note: you don’t have to go that far.)

4. Now set those poems aside. Have a cup of coffee. Or take a walk. Or go to work. Or watch a movie. Then write another poem.

5. Eventually — an hour, a day, a month later — come back to one of your poems and read it. Maybe it’s done — congrats. If not, play with the language. Look for stronger, more meaningful words. Rewrite. Then repeat #4 and #5.

Karin B. Miller is a writer and editor, best known for editing The Cancer Poetry Project and The Cancer Poetry Project 2. For more information, visit www.cancerpoetryproject.com. Another version of this article has appeared elsewhere.