Whether System {a #poem}

the lights have left the leaves, golden brilliance turned out like a  glowing candle quieted by the wind.   the leaves float and rustle, voices, too, carried by the breeze to this place atop a hill– a slanted receptacle for sound forcing it upwards  to my ears. I’m hidden–He’s not. I hear Him. He’s here.

This is just to say we could not eat the plums– they were so many pyramided together in plastic, hailing from casa de Costco where everything is sold in bulk. We could not eat the plums. unripe as they were– purple/black skins yielding to (very) firm yellow (oh! not sweet) flesh. We enlisted children, yea…

If you give a writer a journal She’ll probably say “thank you”    (exclamation point) And wonder where the nearest pen or pencil is. If she finds said pen, she’ll take to writing    A es a pee. Once she starts writing there’s no telling When she’ll stop—why    THINGS COULD HAPPEN. People would be…

orange trees from the orange grove where my husband was raised, Yorba Linda CA. I bless thee, Lord, because I GROW Among thy trees, which in a ROW To thee both fruit and order OW. When thou dost greater judgements SPARE And with thy knife but prune and PARE, Ev’n fruitful trees more fruitful ARE….