Inside a Book

Inside a Book

My bookshelves are filled with
sweet dreams of many poets.
The content of each book is
the beating of a writer’s heart,
pumping with inky fervor,
guiding me into a world where
we will meet soul to soul.
A place where one thought is doubled
and my muse finds another that suits
its tender essence

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2022-april-pad-challenge-day-20

Pondering My Fate

Pondering My Fate

I am the only one of the bunch left.
I sit alone on top of the refrigerator
waiting for someone to look up,

to see me here and think, “Oh
there’s still a banana!” Maybe
they will slice me and smother me

in ice cream and chocolate sauce.
Maybe they will cuddle me up between
two slices of bread slathered in peanut butter,

or lovingly slice me into a bowl of warm oatmeal.
Maybe someone will grab me on the way out
the door, on their way to yoga or soccer practice.

My freckles are just starting to show. I am the perfect
specimen, slightly curved, firm yellow skin, soft buttery
insides – just what the doctor ordered.

I know my days are numbered, here on the fridge.The longer
I go unnoticed, the more likely I have been forgotten and I will
slowly rot, until someone notices the smell. Then, I must join the

soggy tomatoes, the stinky potatoes, the furry grapes –
unfortunates destined for the compost pile.

About What Counts

About What Counts

He sits at the kitchen window counting
birds at the feeder. He used to know the name

of each one, their breeding habits, their migration
patterns. A large shadow passes overhead, scattering

the little birds like the memories that elude him. People
and places he no longer recalls, strangers in photographs.

Only the feelings remain.
Surely they must count for something.

At the Rim of the Canyon

At the Rim of the Canyon

The sky above is a canvas of blue, an unnamed
shade no artist can faithfully recreate.

Great Condors seem like dots above me, wings spread,
wheeling through the warm air, defying extinction.

I hear the hush of wind in the pinyon pines, as
if the Gods of many nations are breathing.

Ripped open before me is the history of this
planet, laid down in stripes of rock and mineral,

chiseled away by a restless river, relentlessly
eroding the chasm I stare into, eon by eon.

Before the vastness of this grand canyon, I
lay down my human hubris and weep.

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-eleven-10/

Of Courage and Joy

Of Courage and Joy

No one tells you how courageous you must be to grow old
The oldest are often the bravest
No one tells you how many times a heart can be broken or

How many times it can heal
No one tells you your body will fight against you and
Vigilance will become your watch word

No one tells you about how much love a human heart can hold
And still have room for more
No one tells you that joy comes in the form of chickadees

And children’s laughter
Yet, when they tell you that the best is yet to come
You do not believe

It Takes Two to Tango

It Takes Two to Tango

She was a walled flower with two left-over feet
No rhythm flowed or surged through her limp veins
Not beat to match her lonely heart moved her hips
But when the moon was full she shed her shoes and
tangoed alone in the lambent glow of night

A Question of Abundance

A Question of Abundance

The crocus and daffodils are blooming
and there is an abundance of small white
flowers in the herb garden – unwanted weeds

that I will have to pull, if it ever stops raining
On my front porch I found a small yellow
butterfly, a sign that the weather is finally

turning warmer and a reminder that my
abundant weeds are its abundant food source
Weeding can wait