Category Archives: Gratitude

Old friends

We were girls together 60 years ago
Today, we can still connect and our
Talk weaves a rug of oft forgotten
Memories, long life news, and there 
Are newer topics to reveal, discuss
Debate. I remember, then it's yours
To recall, or correct my recollection.
As I remember it was always thus,
Even 60 years ago, when first we met,
Conversed, discussed, debated. Yes
There's nothing new under the sun,
As the saying goes, and lots new to
Share, and chew on, now that time, 
So much time, has passed. Tonight
Feels as if 60 years were yesterday

Working, another way

Poets are not a lazy gazy lot, I can 
Attest as I am hard at work putting pen
To page, in the metaphorical custom of
A digital age. I write in deep reflection, thinking 
Hard of what it all means, all– I
mean 
To say– is life itself from beginning to an end we 
Do not want to imagine or foresee, foretelling with the
Same foreboding you feel, an 
end I 
Can see is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my doings, coming and 
Goings, as carefree as if there were not
An end in sight.
Working

Working

Poets are not a lazy
Gazy lot, I can attest
As I am hard at work
Putting pen to page,
In the metaphorical
Custom of a digital
Age. I write in deep
Reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all
Means, all-- I mean
To say-- is life itself
From beginning to an
End we do not want
To imagine or foresee,
Foretelling with the
Same foreboding you
Feel, an end I can see
Is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my
Doings, coming and 
Goings, as carefree 
As if there were not
An end in sight.

Early morn

The dark and the light mix
Matched, perfectly balanced
Hanging in the balance, dark
Turning into light, illuminated
Grey, like a fluorescent paint,
Picking up the white of the 
Sky, holding it in its pigment,
Brilliant yet dull. It's early yet.
Just wait until the sun bursts 
Through the clouds, it'll add
A touch of lemony butter to
The palette, brightening the
Hues. Soon it will be daylight

You

This is where I miss you most
When the sky is so beautiful I
Have to share its perfect color
This is when I miss you more
Where we might have walked
Together, sharing the night
I want to whisper with every
Breath how much I need you 
To help me make the beauty
Real. This is when I miss you.
Never again will we walk like
That. Our bodies close, our 
Hands holding tight, not alone
The perfect sky something to
Share. This is when I miss you

Mailbox

It's not just because
I love getting letters
A mailbox, attached
To an errant wall, just
Outside your apartment,
Is a truly special thing
Private in the way the
U.S.P.S. can never be,
Communication from
Here to anywhere, to 
Me, is just ours. I can
Imagine the wriiten 
Pages, sealed and then
Addressed, dropped
In that singular box.
They would be love
Letters, they would be
Secret missives, they
Would be private, ours.

Am I A.I.?

Life imitates art, painting,
Dance, even the houses
That house us, words and
Stories, it's art that gives
Us the blueprint for our
Lives, guiding us across
The divides between our
Reality and our fealty. We
Know about honor and
Loyalty because someone
Wrote about them, told us
How to and what to think.
Life imitates art, follows it
Around like a puppy with
A toy in its mouth, innocent
Of any thought but full of
Instinct and juice. Life=art.

In a world gone mad

In a world gone mad, perhaps 
No madder, crazier than it has
Been building - puffing itself up
To, a world askew, I dream of
You sitting by my left shoulder,
When I awake disappointed to
Find you gone, this feels sane,
Missing you in a world turned
Mad by liars, confidence men,
Swindlers and cheats. You are
Safe not having to deal with a
Different kind of crazy, an evil,
Your memory gave me safety,
Dreaming of you, sitting by me