Wednesday, February 5, 2020


When she saw him, she saw a mirage
Life-giving water of her life
Slayer of all discontent
Passion beyond the sacred
Happiness with no beginning or end

Until his betrayal

Then she saw hell incarnate
Not just in him, but in herself
Hate was her air
One day she even rejected flowers
From a love wishing child
The flowers humbly wilted
But their spirits remained
To bathe her in miracle perfume

Slowly, what we call time, passed
She, like most, didn't know
That flowers' spirits are always Now
She breathed their scent
Enough to transcend pain
Enough to learn, to live
To love her friends
Then she died
Became what some call an angel
Though in fact
An angel is a flower

Sunday, February 2, 2020


I grew up on a street named Evergreen
Though no evergreen there grew
But in front of my window was a nameless tree
Ignored by me
I don't remember noticing
If it was pretty in Spring
Or shivered in frost 
Or if it was happy to just be
There watching me grow
But now that I know
About the wisdom of trees
I wonder how my nameless tree influenced me
As I danced before the mirror, learning new steps
Talked with friends discussing styles, trends
Cried when that boy broke my heart
Struggled to learn, be brave, grow up

Maybe some day I'll go see
If my nameless tree still remains
Will it remember me
Will it simply be
Like all trees 
Generous, knowledgeable, self assured 
Watching, even if ignored
Breathing earth's beauty
Inhaling it's scent
Enduring its growing pains
Like a mother
Waiting for her infant

Wednesday, January 29, 2020


He was tired
So bored
The old man swore
He'd already seen the exact sunset
The exact trade between sun and stars
The exact darkness that now dimmed the ground
He shrugged in acceptance
Even the sky was sheer repetition
Like his old dog who never did anything new
Always the same old trick
Every day the old man with his old dog
Walked to the same park
Sat on the same bench
The old  dog had forgotten how to play
The old man had forgotten much.

One day a rock mysteriously struck
The old man's head
It hurt
He bled
Everyone thought he was dead
But no
He rose
Walked home
Then smiled to see the day's end
So different yet the same
He called a friend he'd forgotten from the past
They ate
They talked
They even laughed
Everyday the old man gave thanks for that rock
That somehow cracked open his head
Gave his life a new plot
He was grateful to be a (hu)man
Though now his animal friend romped around the park
He ran, he played
Never learned a new trick
But seemed to have a happy spark in his bark

(For Poets and Storytellers United.)

Sunday, January 12, 2020


In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete"

Everyday I go outside to greet the day,  breathe, experience peace.

This morning, my focus was on bushes along the wall.  They were green, speckled with red blooms in summer.  But now, in January winter, they are merely grey organic skeletons. I wondered if they died or are simply enjoying a pause from living because growing is not easy. They need winter, the way I need sleep.

Despite their slumber or deadness, they stood erect, as if happy to simply be in whatever form.  My thoughts, as thoughts always do, drifted. I considered my own creaking, aching bones that will someday be a remnant of me.  But, for now, they shape my flesh and move.  A moment of gratitude.

Then, thoughts of Wabi Sabi came to me. In the past, I found it difficult to understand how to appreciate the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete. But now, I had a deep connection to these twiggy bushes. I saw them as pretty, radiant, an adornment of life that cast lovely shadows. Their existence, in many ways, reflects my own. I sprout from the same source.  I too am imperfect, impermanent. Though 'aging' may at times appear to be a dormant stage, it is not. I can still dance my dance while I give, learn, laugh, love, live. There is beauty in this.  I am incomplete... but I am.

For Poets and Storytellers United.

Sunday, January 5, 2020

On December 23rd, Virginia (Virgie), my hairdresser of 30 years, died.  Any tribute from me, would not do her justice.  She was a remarkable woman.  Though we were not close friends outside the beauty parlor,  on many levels, we knew each other well.  I will miss her smile, her hugs and her kindness.  It has been an honor to know her.


You liked precision
If there is choice in dying
You rejected the hazy living of prolonged illness
Maintaining neither life nor death
You stayed long enough though
For preparation - yours and ours
But we are not yet ready
To accept the shading of your essence
Grief is our resistance 
To the biggest change of life 
You are deeply grieved
Your eulogy was about your goodness
It was long 
Because it was about loving
Now as you travel that road 
Destined for us all
Life goes on 
Or is it death that grows into itself?
Life and death simultaneously fused

Sunday, December 8, 2019

( I haven't been around much lately.  My muse has not been cooperating with me.  But today, I thought I'd write something.  Just something to connect with all of you at PU.)  


I once went to a Native American ceremony 
The Navajo Tribe dancers performed a rain dance
Amazingly, a warm sunny sky transformed
First small, then large, sharp droplets like daggers
Fell from a grey powerful sky
Many people left  laughing
Coincidence can be funny
I stayed wondering
Am I drenched by what could be
Nature's homage to ritual?
Does Nature respect us? 
Thoughts created many questions
The few I answered
Were based less on science or faith
More on hope

(For Poets United.)

Sunday, October 6, 2019


Old Mesilla, New Mexico

The band played Latin Jazz
People sat on chairs or on the grass
Some walked alone some with canine companions
Music waved through the air delicately 
Melding with time as it gently passed
Humans animals trees even concrete
Responded with an otherworldly softness
Church bells playfully clanged
As a wedding party floated in hope bubbles
Toward the Gazebo to eternalize
The couple's vow to love
Sitting on the ground surrounded by friends
I forgot what I remembered or needed to forget
Perhaps I even forgot there was an I
Desiring nothing
Until the moment ended

 (For Poets United.)