We Come Once More

We Come Once More

We come, once more, to this
thankful
season. A time of introspection for
poets
whose cups spill over with syllables of love,
with souls
filled to the brim with joy and sadness, and hearts
that beat
out the rhythm of life and death
with truth.

waltmarie poetic form

The Squirrel Forest

The Squirrel Forest

She laughs at the squirrel running
back and forth across her yard
frantically burying acorns in random

places. Will it ever remember
each spot so it can return in barren
winter to dig up that morsel?

She knows that in the spring
she will be pulling saplings from
her flower beds, left overs from

some hidden bounty. As she watches,
she wanders if it might have been squirrels
that planted the forest at the edge of her yard.

Smoke Signals

Smoke Signals

Puffs of white clouds drift
slowly past like cosmic
smoke signals, carrying
messages that I do not
understand. I wish for words
that I can see written across
the sky, or a whisper from deep
inside the biggest cloud that
I can hear. I watch them scurry
away, pushed by the wind, the
way they’ve always done and
I think they are trying to tell me
the world is still turning and
all will be well.