• My Poems

    When Poems Beget Poetry

    “The day is done and all the fields lie fallow, One thing is needful, one voice calls your name.” From the Sonnet “Pilgrimage” for Kate Gross, by Malcolm Guite Selection from “Parable and Paradox Sometimes a poem rises up and words pour out after reading another writers’ work. Here’s what I was inspired to pen after reading the above lines in Malcolm Guite’s sonnet. Harvest What if, plowing, the farmer should find finished the fields, sheaves all in and bewildered, be turned towards home to hear, “no more, no more?” Sowing done, Earth’s floor is Heaven’s now, seeds have sprouted, bloomed, grown. Every soul planted in Heaven’s soil is gathered in.…

  • My Poems

    For Friends Too Many to Name {a #poem}

    Years and miles evaporate like the season’s new-birthed fog, leaving the strong, bright gleam of friendship lighthouse true. Holding true like the trees weathered through decades of sun as we weathered our own wearying waves of life, lapping at the edge of our friendship, threatening to erode the years of tears and laughter, the space and distance breakers in between. In between we hold on, reach out past the yesterdays touching this day as we raise high our glasses crystal etching the air, the glittering sound noting the miracle we are still here. —– Summer is a time for visiting friends & writing poetry. You can read more of my poems HERE  

  • My Poems

    Ad Vent {a #poem}

    Glossy pages proclaim paltry purchases as life savers for my overrun soul. I’m run over as they bellow, beckoning, “buy me! buy me!” I cannot partake of one more iota of input– how can quiet paper carry so much loud weight and end up selling me nothing? This war of words promises joy and happiness are but a wallet-full away. Enough greenbacks and I’d have a temporary ticket to  here-on-earth wealth yet penniless and empty still. Bare bodies bear needless gifts, overbearing bling shimmering their iridescent faux shine. There is no gleam, no honest light shining save that announced by the staggering Star far, far away heralding His arrival, harking…

  • My Poems

    Lessons in Autumn-A Poem

    One must gather a chair, a cushion, a small setting table field glasses, cup of tea, these grand books like quiet friends then sit. One must sit, knees crossed in cushioned chair anchored in the too tall grass, eyes to the hawthorn and bayberry, waving maple, water-sounding leaves on air. One must train the eye, not strain but rest on beauty- aleaf and aberry, expecting the rush and wave of ruby  to hide a robin or two. One must, footside, be amazed at this blazing October day, flames of foliage an avian chamber of surprises, ever changing, never ending one of a kind Autumn. One must. ~~~~~~~~ I’ve been reading…

  • My Poems,  Poetry

    Writing Down the Bones {a #poem}

    Something has been said about “writing down the bones” which sounds like a good practice if you’re learning anatomy. But the first time I heard the phrase, I thought it was “writing down the poems,” So I am. Writing down the poems moving my bones, the ligaments lightly holding the pen– black on paper, blue, too, re-living the washing of water by their words, like taking a bath in beauty that leaves me breathless. If I bathe with this cleansing flood, soak in the senses, sounds of someone else’s heart in my soul, I’m sure the echo will ring out true on the other side– wash and rinse cycle of…

  • My Poems

    Hurrahing in Harvest–A Poem I Did Not Write

    “Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise    Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour    Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies? “I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,    Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;    And, eyes, heart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies? “And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder    Majestic–as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet!– These things, these things were here and but the beholder    Wanting; which two when they once meet, The heart…

  • My Poems,  Poetry

    The View from Here–a Seattle Portrait

    A mystery, really–these mute carriers of a collection of qualities known only to humankind. The sway of the valise, a pendulum of skin-covered appendages, the flip of the handbag: back-side, front-side, side-side synchronized while hiking the concrete sun-filled hillsides up to the top~ View Just Ahead. Oblivious to said view in their busy ant kingdom they strain necks bookward, heads poised at odd angles screenward or eyes staring downward. Were it not for the rude city sounds punctuating the air and street their safely stopping would be in question. Ah safety….here come the wise and cheerful ones; this time without screens or books in hand but fists of flowers, posies…

  • My Poems

    Quiet on the Wind {a #poem}

    On the wind His words gently breezing through the pinwheel turning, iridescent blue blowing across the surface moving gently, forcing me to hear, “I’m here” while I ponder slowing– less turning, more still- like the quiet trees hushing, the soft branches suspended, punctuation placed securely on the pages of the sky, declaring a full stop. I’ve heard rumors of His kindness, long to be bathed with words. I lean in lingering, straining for His voice. Cupping His hand o’er my ear, He shares secrets like a lover, and I am washed into waking shocked at the power of quiet on the wind.