My fellow poet,

wherefore art thou? I have looked,

but you’re not in sight.

~

Catching up on sleep

after long hours working

in the Sun for other folks.

Today’s hidden poem

is asking to be found. Are

you ready to play?

~

Pond holds sky’s fallen

tears as nearby trees softly

sway with soothing lullabies.

~

Languid in that heat;

humidity oppressive,

relieved by sudden showers.

College kids these days!

“That car has no esthetic!

I can’t drive my friends in that!”

~

Maybe they just need

an antiseptic to ease

their entitlement.

With deep purple blooms

gone, hummingbirds are gone too

leaving us to hum alone.

~

Butterflies remain

and hummingbirds still hover

where polyculture blossoms.

Some hope for free flight,

to soar graceful as birds,

high on thermals and breezes.

~

We can try to move

with grace even if we aren’t

able to fly high.

August brings summer’s

last chance to embrace a slow

pace before autumn‘s rat race,

~

For those college-bound,

summer’s peace is in the past!

Autumn’s rat race has begun.

All good things must end,

lest they become common place,

and, thereby, loose their luster.

~

As the good times roll

gently into the past, know

more are on the horizon.

So many red code

warnings lately and still some

deny climate change.

~

Well… it still gets cold

and there was more snow this year…

that don’t sound much like warming.

Sometimes it takes faith

to accept that what you want

may not be the thing you need.

~

Sometimes when you get

what you don’t want, it takes you

where you need to go.

Wish you could bottle

the refreshment of your trip,

sip it as needed back home.

~

Just so long as I

can filter out the drama

mixed so liberally therein.

Solitude abounds

here, among the resting gulls

beside the crystal water.

~

Savor each moment.

Let it fill your whole being

and nourish your soul.

From ninety-five to

seventy-two – surprise gift

from a sudden storm

~

Sadly, though, that gift

Comes, alas, with hidden price…

humidity, she’s rising!

Riding wind and waves,

harnessing their energy;

it’s the only way to sail!

~

Sailing through the day,

the wind at your back, smile

on your face – embodied joy.

A few seeds remain –

enough to make those small birds’

visit worthwhile.

~

With the last morsel

consumed, the birds will remain,

demanding you provide more.

Dawn in Virginia

and sunset in Ohio

makes for one sleepy fellow.

~

Sweet dreams, my fellow

poet. May your sleep be filled

with restful rhythm and rhyme.

Trying to cover

dirt that vast would take a rug

as big as our whole country.

~

The problem with rugs…

all that dirt hidden beneath

soaks through the fibers, in time.

Not every poet

can be poet laureate,

but they should be literate.

~

Poets existed

long before the written word.

They feel deeply and they speak.

A collection of

moments make up memories.

Make them worth keeping.

~

A collection of

memories make up a life

worthy of recall.

Leaves afloat in pools

provide safe harbor for bees

blown about by sudden storms

~

When sudden storms strike,,

may we be as lucky as

those bees in finding refuge.

Rain keeps visiting

and though pleasant at first is

now wearing out its welcome.

~

Never discount rain;

Knowing it wears down mountains

and reshapes the continents.

Coming and going

shouldn’t be all so stressful

they erase the vacation.

~

Taking the high road

to our destination would

be great if we could find it.

Seems my poet friend

has fled the coop, taken off

to a far and wordless place.

~

Breath taken away

by perpetual motion;

words exist, just are unvoiced!

When we cram so much

into our days, we don’t leave

space enough for savoring.

~

It’s an age old choice;

quantity or quality.

Choose one, or you’ll get neither.

Plans in abundance

withstand the face of chaos,

At least, more often than not.

~

Tell the Universe

your plans, they say, and listen

to a universal laugh.

Grateful beyond words

for those dismantling, lie

by lie, the house that Trump built.

~

Unmaking his house

will, most likely, require

a harsh iconoclasm.

Before us alone,

God does not stop; lay on hands…

Others… perhaps… tentacles?

~

No matter how hard

I try, I can’t come up with

a reply…just bafflement.

A scattering of

sunlight toward the end of day –

hopeful evening song.

~

Complimented by

joyful, pool party noises

wafting through the woods nearby.

Finely crafted joy

requires cultivation

and a passion for delight.

~

Spontaneous joy,

though not finely crafted, breaks

through well-guarded hearts.

Whose rights are honored

when we can’t safely go to

parades, stores, schools, even church?

~