Wednesday, October 18, 2017


How bright the moon
When its full smile beams
As if all is well
Like my hypocritical smile 
That reassures my grandkids
When I put them to bed
On moonless nights of gloom
When I can't see what I know is there
When I worry that the moon 
May reject the sun,
Give up, fall
Into that black abyss
Of grief
Because it clearly sees
Through its tears
The threats, the fears
Of this world's reflection

How bright the moon
To know
that from its darkness, 
A sliver of new light will appear
Like the joy of my grandkid's morning
Reassurance that
Though all is not well
The moon and I will smile again

(For Poets United.)

Sunday, October 8, 2017


(The following is an old one I'd written for Diverse Poets a few years ago.  I've edited enough that it's actually quite new.)  

"Yesterday is today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."
                                                                              Kahlil Gibran

I decide to drive home the long way through curvy, dangerous roads, along mountainous cliffs so high I feel like a cloud.  But gradually I descend into the calm security of level ground, where I impulsively turn into a desolate place that seems a dream misplaced. Friendly leaves wave me in, invite me to stay a while.  I let myself be swallowed by the forest, greener than green.

I sit by a noisy stream with white foaming bubbles rushing then relaxing to caress the rocky floor before moving on.  Does it know I'm watching?  Because it does seem to show off for me.  To be different from all other streams I've watched crashing, turning, sliding, crashing again into rocks so still.  It keeps moving, sculpting its unique path, different from yesterday's waters.  I feel a sense of expectation as I watch it flow towards its tomorrow.

The noisy stream rushes past
Green leaves wave good bye
Forest waits for winter's snow

 (For Poets United.)

Wednesday, October 4, 2017



I was ignorant
He was my first

Slept with me
While my husband worked
All those creepy nights
Mornings I made him scrambled eggs
Never put him on a leash
Let him swim in the middle of the lake
I never knew about
Or walls

No money
No veterinarian
No packaged foods.
All I knew how to exchange
Was love

In spite of me
He lived many happy years
When he died
 I cried
For days
To grieve
So deeply
For "just a dog"

He was the beginning
Of my organic education
Now I know
Ignorance can seem like bliss
But most often
It's the core
Of human misbehavior
I'm still learning

(For Poets United.)

Sunday, October 1, 2017


I thought I knew what it meant 
To go with the flow
Travel in life's radiant glow 
Let the current lift you
Let everything be carried
By its own breeze
Never freeze
In stagnant winters
Crying for springs 
That may never be

I was right 
But also wrong
The flow is not just a stream 
To ride
It's something inside 
Like rushing waters
Sculpting a coarse rock
Into a smooth, shinny pebble

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


My walk through that little, quaint New Mexican town became engraved in my memory as a treat to stream, like a movie through my mind whenever I'm running low on joy. Do I remember that day because I was a tourist enjoying the irresponsible freedom of that temporary escape one feels while on vacation?  Or because the moment was simply other worldly?

I can still see the people lined up for mass before the ornate doors of that old church, the bell's loud clang creating a chime of reverberating waves caressing the hopes of non-believers, confirming the faith of believers, uniting everyone with tiny glimpses of heaven.

Nearby, multi-generations of one family gathered to celebrate their blood connection.  I wonder if they noticed me standing outside their huge yard, ogling their plates of  tantalizing Mexican food being passed around like soul nutrition, admiring how they loved their babies, how children, adults and the elderly intermingled, how their laughter drowned out the sound of the church bell creating instead the sound of love.

To this day, that scene evokes a variety of thoughts.  Primarily, that I'm grateful for my own little family. But I also entertain Pollyannish wishes.  Is it possible that within the cosmic scope, humanity is just one small family?  And we can celebrate a reunion? Someday?

A family's love
Resounds through the universe
Like a bell in Spring

(For Poets United.)


Wednesday, August 30, 2017



By cameras
She is fully in the moment
Not yet worried about futures 
After being rescued from waters
That flow without mercy
Washing away her ground
  Because there's no security
Not even in the love of the child
She clutches to confirm life

I can't stop watching
My heart feels swollen
My emotions swirl 
Fear, tenderness, helplessness
But above all wonder
At humanity's spirit,
A capsule of possibilities

Mesmerized, I am witness
I suffer with the suffering
But I am also awed
By those who detach 
From their own interests
To help, to give of themselves
While forgetting about themselves
How amazing 

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Have been gone a while and have missed you all.  Been busy relearning life's lessons.  Both daughter and husband have had health challenges and I've been trying to be helpful.  I'll be posting 
periodically for a while, whenever I can and the muse inspires.



In high school, nuns taught me Latin,
The best foundation.
But it seemed lifeless, irrelevant, useless
To a teenage girl who preferred to learn French,
Melodic, romantic language
That magnified my magical dreams.
But the magic of those dreams died
Starved from lack of habit.
Both languages became foggy wisps  
Of my memory.

Today, in spite of my good intentions,
I frown at my sketches.
My hand simply does not give form
To what I want to create.
Will I ever learn?
Why is everything like language?
If not practiced, forgotten.

Is that why life is more circular than linear,
Continuously passing by similar scenes
Of opportunities
To practice love in all its forms?
Will I ever learn to draw
From the rainbows in my heart
Teaching me
Again, again.
Is that why Spring keeps repeating?