A Poem Without a Pocket
This poem has no pockets
Nowhere to put the bits and bobs
it’s collected
Nowhere to stuff the laughs or hide
the tears. Nowhere to put the
pieces of joy to savor later.
This poem has no choice but to
give them all away.
Category: quadrille
A Just Right Day
A Just Right Day
It was a humble kind of day –
not too shiny, not too dark.
The kind of day you want to bumble around in pajamas,
or sit on the garden bench watching bees
jumbled together on the Zinnias.
It was a Goldilocks kind of day.
Changing Seasons
Changing Seasons
The geese don’t protest the summer’s end, complain about the
flight ahead. They trust the seasons .
Yet we decry each age and stage of our lives, wishing to be other
than ourselves. And in our protestation, our lamentations,
miss the loveliness of now
Quadrille #354: I Protest
Catching a Poem
Catching a Poem
Spin around three times
Close your eyes and make a wish
Jump as high as you can
Let a moonbeam land on your hand
Put it in a jar
Sing it a gentle lullaby
Listen carefully – it
will whisper a poem to you
Some Mondays
Some Mondays
Monday tries to sneak up on you
tip-toes in, hopes you won’t notice.
It hears the moans and groans of a Sunday night,
the almost mythological dread of what might be waiting
when it shows up. Monday tries to be inconspicuous,
and, maybe welcomed.
growing pains
growing pains
this poem is boney meter and stanza –
gangly, dangly lines and phrases.
it stumbles over its own feet,
has no rhyme or rhythm. it dreams
of becoming a sonnet, even an ode.
and when its feeling optimistic, it can
Imaging itself a villanelle.
Pondering Things at 2A.M.
Pondering Things at 2 A.M.
There is something magical
about the contrast of black and white.
Something silent that makes you “feel”
rather than “see”.
Light and shadow.
Contrast and highlights.
Like in photography,
piano keys,
snow on bare tree limbs,
stars in a night sky,
…. and Oreos
Shhhhhhh…….Quiet, Please!
Let’s Stay Home
Let’s skip the trip,
stay near to all that’s dear –
brew tea and
bake a chocolate cake.
Let’s write a poem and read the book
that we’ve been waiting for.
Let’s let the candle burn until we hear
finches sing of Springs return
Quadrille #240: Fill, Zip, Trip
Anatomy Lesson
Anatomy Lesson
Who knew a beating heart
could make such a rumpus –
that flowing blood could
create swishing
noises as it moves
from one chamber to another,
gently closing the flap behind it.
I listen, waiting to hear
hope, love, joy, echoing
back to me.
Altered Heart
Altered Heart
It’s time to take my heart off my sleeve –
unpin the rough edges,
smooth it out, look for tears.
It’s time to mend some holes and,
after a few alterations, gently stitch it
back where it belongs for the
whole world to see.
