Wednesday, April 26, 2017



When I was young my my ego was big
Full of expectation expanding my animation
To leave my mark
In a world that owed me
A happy, abundant, upscale living

I accepted all life's tremendous goodness 
My ego took the credit
But when life twisted me, crushed me
Almost destroyed me as many times as it did
My ego became a huge victim of calamity 

The I that is I gradually realized
In happiness or sorrow, 
ego craves grandiosity
Slowly, it can learn though,
About its proper place and size
Within this unfathomable cosmic paradox
Where I, who am simultaneously so big and small,
Am in the present and future of eternity
A very insignificant yet magnificent grain of sand

(For Poets United)

Sunday, April 23, 2017



I'm giving up
No longer will I persist
Expending energy like fumes
From an old bus
Dark smoke polluting my lungs
In stead my heart will 
Positively beat
A different drum 
Whose noise rises
the tunes of doom
That I fear 

No longer will I focus on what
May be inside black holes
I'll turn my cheek the other way
Only looking where the moon is bright
Enough to illuminate my night
Though I know it is the night 
That may reign
In hearts like coal
Waiting to burn
Us, who resist
The blindness of dark power

I will say NO to thoughts 
Of peril, feelings of helplessness
That haunt my emotions
I'll let my shadow cling
Trying to defy the sun
While I keep running
Reaching for the brilliance
Of my YES

(For Poets United.)

Sunday, April 16, 2017



I'd love to go to the Galápagos Islands
Where Blue Footed Boobies reside
I want to see nature's good humor
In her funny bird design
I'd love to visit all countries
To see the native species
That inhabit their sacred grounds

Instead, I stay
Where I am
Where coyotes, quail,
Other common desert animals
Will never attract tourists
Yet when I see them 
I feel I've witnessed exotic
Miraculous creatures
What they are
Without thought of goodness or malice
Simply nature's chalice
From which I drink

(For Poets United.)

Wednesday, April 12, 2017


My set of classics (Traded in 1973)

It felt like I tasted candy when she read to us.  Her sweet voice dramatized emotions contained in words written long ago. The class, usually a little noisy, sat frozen in silence as images appeared on the screen of each student's imagination.  No one had ever read to me before.  I thought I didn't like reading,   My family didn't read or speak English. There were no books at home.   I thank this teacher for successfully instilling a hunger for more.  Books became inseparable from my life.

Once, many years ago, my husband and I traded an old, beaten up car for a set of classic books, beautifully bound.  We knew we made the better deal.  When my daughter rested peacefully in my belly, I read to her.  When my husband worked nights, I read all night long.  My favorite outing?  To go to a bookstore.  I cannot go to sleep unless I read before turning off the lights.

My home is cluttered with books.  I treasure them like real people with covers that mislead, attract attention giving clues about the person within.  They're expressing dreams, ways to help, share a story, or a poem, fiction or truth that exposes their true me.

Books in every corner
People waiting to be opened
Hoping to be understood 

Sunday, April 9, 2017


I know most of these are considered weeds.  But to me,
they are still beautiful.  The desert blooms in Spring.

I must write a poem about flowers 
Everywhere I walk, I see
Splattered, scattered bunches of color
Made of something delicate, inimitable, 
pure ethereal fabric of joy

I observe their nature
Entirely grounded in giving
But their gifting essence 
never satiates my hunger
No matter how much 
of their beauty I'm consuming

My obsession demands augmentation
It's not enough for me to touch, to see, to smell
I must articulate, commemorate, perpetuate
But my poem is insufficient 
To express what flowers do

Humbly I stare with admiration
Simply accepting their wondrous gift 
Hoping that magically I've ingested seeds
Enough for flower colored words
To germinate within me

Wednesday, April 5, 2017


Listen to the flowers' laughter
They tease the trees, the birds,
The crawly beings that have sprung out
To see how the sun rejoices.

We smile as we observe
Nature's rebirth
Winter is already forgotten
The way we forget the dead 
Who wait for us to awaken them
As they lie patiently, still 
in the coffins of our memories

Today, we focus on the living
Acknowledging that beauty
Knows how to return
Again and again

Sunday, April 2, 2017



Little ripples in my brain 
Flow along like river waves

Is there beauty here?
In this dry desert terrain
Does the river know the grandeur
Implied in its name?

A bee disturbs my thoughtless thoughts
Falls in hot water where I soak
It takes some time to to swish it out
Surely it's dead
But no
It flaps its wings
Then flies away

I resume my quasi-meditative mode  
Accepting that it's not me, alone
Who will save this world
with all its bees
It will be Nature's perplexing surprises

I become aware of my old achy, weary bones
My chest exhales a selfish wish  
That floats on river's passing waves

(For Poets United.)