April Buds
The morning chorus of birdsong greets me under a gray-cloaked sky.We sip coffee on the back porch in sweatshirts, hoods pulled tight around our faces as the first tentative raindrops scamper across the yard, blipping onto the peeling paint,spreading out into Rorschach blobs that test our springtime fortitude. I wrote this poem for this week’s…
Keep readingWho am I and What is My Purpose?
the sunrise over a flooded riverbed–now mid-day, or maybe sunset instead,the soft-spoken advice that leads you homethe messy-haired head lost in a tomethe crinkled leaf upon that same riverthe freckled skin, the dry hands that sliverthe mothering arms for ready embracethe struggling teacher longing for gracethe light feet dancing from place to place This poem…
Keep readingOcean Stranger
Ocean, you rippling stranger,carrying unknown danger to a land-locked wanderer like me.I could stare for hours in wonder at your hypnotic waves, skipping rocks across the smooth surface,investigating the mysteries left behind at low tide, plunging headfirst in abandon into seaweed, nearly caressing the curves of painted coral, dripping footprints on shell-crumbled sands, and dozing…
Keep readingTristan & Isolde
the storm of love’s intentonce content with play and rusenow bound by tragic melody as strident calls echo in tunetwo paired hearts so powerlesscourting potion through to doomthe harmony of life’s sunrisenow blurred by darkened cloudsbut the weightless souls eternalentwine beyond the sodden ground I wrote this poem for this week’s We’ave Written Weekly at…
Keep readingI heard a wilted flower speak
one morning, bland and weak,I heard a wilted flower speakof our future tribulationsof our far-off destinationsour technicolor tapestrylife’s seeming mystery to mea tightly coiled secret kepta trepid toil oversteppedthe whisper of earth’s voicea shiver scattered once or twicelike autumn’s petals in the windall our summer days rescinded This poem was written for this week’s Wea’ve…
Keep readingBlack spruce sentry
A century-old sentry, I’ve stood vigilantat the river’s edge.A surveyor of nature’s glory:the glisten of crisp iceand snowmelt that poolsat my roots,the flicker of the moon’swarm glow scamperingacross my branches,smoother than the boldstare of summer’s sunrays,or the wind that stirs needles and flowers culled from my shadows by deer and hare, or the eddies that…
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Words and Coffee Writing 