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

A Song in the Storm

A Song in the Storm

A small, clear voice sang out
amid the storm of men at war –
a movie song, a moving song.
A call to peaceful action, a voice
to calm the fears of children everywhere.
A song that children sing from homes,
and schools – from street corners and bunkers.
A voice heard by nations and people
unlike her own, yet understood by all.
A child with the wisdom that children possess,
a wisdom that is lost in the foolishness of growing up

Of Poem and Nonsense

Of Poem and Nonsense

This poem is tied up in (k)nots trying to
make sense of the letters swirling around


it – Syllables that won’t keep time, tripping
over metered clown feet – Phrases


of the moon lined up and made to
stan(d)za in groups of four or maybe two


What’s a poem to do when there is no
rhyme or season to its form? When it finds


itself trickling away into an inky stain on paper ?

Wrapped Up

Wrapped Up

She tried to catch up, match
up with those trending, mending
rending things until she was wrung dry

She tried to tweet sweet nothing
into space and time until her chirping dried up
She tried not to give up, live up to

some made up expectations that weren’t her
own until her muse was filled up with nonsense
Then she grabbed up some paper and some

deep blue ink and wrapped herself tightly
into the safety of her own mixed up poem

Synthetic Smells

Synthetic Smells

They sell smells boxed and bottled,
ready for noses unused to nature.
Lavender and rose petals packaged
in plastic – manufactured smells
from a laboratory by people in
white coats and hair nets who
work under artificial lights and
breath artificial air. I long to walk
with them in my garden, to share
the warm yellow light of the sun,
and let them brush their hands
across lavender and sage until
they find the smell of peace.

Frozen Promise

Frozen Promise

It happens every year –
and still I hope
All it takes are a few sunny days,
a couple warmish nights,
and the Magnolia tree in my
neighbor’s yard is adorned with
plump pinky buds full of promise
It happens ever year –
a frosty night forces the buds to
shrivel up in brown sweaters
promises unkept
It happens every year –
and still I hope

A Goodbye Hymn

A Goodbye Hymn

High overhead the wild geese fly
their honking fades into the air,
a threnody, a sad goodbye

to lakes and ponds that don’t reply,
mallards and coots no longer there.
High overhead the wild geese fly

away from cold wind’s chilling sigh.
They sing a chorus of despair
a threnody, a sad goodbye.

I wave my arms, somehow I try
to call them back, but unaware,
high overhead the wild geese fly.

They call each other, pair to pair,
a melody exquisite, rare,
a threnody, a sad goodbye.

I’ll miss them, strutting smartly by –
their songs like penitential prayer,
as overhead the wild geese fly,
a threnody, a sad goodbye

Spider’s Web

Spider’s Web

I leave the abandoned spider’s web,
empty and lifeless, in the corner of the back porch

an offering for the goldfinches and humming birds, which
they will use as the glue that holds their small nests together,

a shield against wind and rain when eggs hatch – protection
from harm until the hatchlings fledge

instead, I sit in a pool of morning sun and ponder love,
the spider’s web that holds a family together – safe and secure