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.
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?
~