Waiting for Words

it was a dark and gloomy night
a night that didn’t feel quite right

the moon was snoring, still in bed
with cloudy blankets o’re his head

the stars were nowhere to be found
no giggling, no fooling ’round

i couldn’t sleep it was so black
i crept downstairs to find a snack

the cat was curled up on my chair
i took my plate back up the stairs

climbed into bed with pen and pad
to chronicle the night i’d had

my mind went blank no single word
flowed from my pen, this was absurd

it seems my muse had left my side
to snuggle with the moon, outside

i was the only one awake
with pen and pad, and tea and cake

it was a dark and gloomy night
a night i couldn’t even write


I wonder

if the moon dreads the sun rise
when the party’s over and
the stars take off their

dancing shoes
moonbeams pack up
their instruments until
the next gig

the silky black curtain
is lifted and
daytime sun gives a
solo performance

there is no room for a
leftover moon

What Luxury


I used to think luxury
was long bubble baths
with candles and music
but after children I know
that luxury is a two hour
nap time
I used to think luxury
was champagne and caviar
but after children I know
that luxury is no spilled milk
at dinner
I used to think luxury
was an elegant silk suit
but after children I know
that luxury is khaki pants
without stains
I used to think luxury
was a stroll in the moonlight
but after children I know
that luxury is shoes without mud
after a walk
I used to think luxury
was the peacefulness of silence
but after children I know
that luxury is the joyfulness of
children giggling

A Tweet Event


chickadee and sparrow
sent out the invitations
to owl and hawk and nuthatch
the perfect combination

blue jay was included too
she’s really quite precocious
magpie was excluded since
his manners are atrocious

Letting Go


the mourning moon
reminds me to let go
to start anew
pack up the useless
have a garage sale
maybe someone else
can take my irrational
fear of failure and fold
it into origami cranes

Tonight there is a full moon, the last full moon before the winter solstice.It is sometimes called the Mourning Moon- a reminder to let go of unnecessary possessions, emotions, attachments




No one goes there any more
It used to be the best playground
with swings and sandboxes and

a box hockey game
The slides were shiny metal
and in the heat of summer

you could feel the burn on your
bare legs the whole way to the
bottom and after a rain you would

land in a muddy puddle
Now it is an empty lot, abandoned
for the newer, safer playground

across town that grownups drive
the kids to watching as they swing
on swings with safety harnesses

and slide down slides that stay
cool to the touch, landing on
a soft rubber surface, or climb

on engineered walls with rules
posted at the bottom
Maybe, someday, kids can

be kids again
play in the mud, swing higher
and higher, pumping their legs,

climb to the top of a rock pile
and proclaim themselves
rulers of the world


this poem was prompted by Imagined by Bjorn – Time Travel



does the rose feel regret
that its perfume is so sweet

is the thorn remorseful
over its sting

will the rooster hang its head
in shame for waking you

can a weed excuse itself
for invading your garden

does the deer hide,
shamefaced, after eating your tomatoes

is a caterpillar contrite
for nibbling the cabbage leaves

nature does not apologize
for its wonder

and are you not, as you are
sweet, twisted, noisy, quiet
part of that wonder