Category Archives: Gratitude

Fall

Do you, like I, have a 
Favorite time of year
I am fond Ado Annie
Style whichever time
It is. When I'm not near
The season I love I love
The season I'm near. So
Sorry R&H for my huge
Transgression. All times
Are good seasons to 
Celebrate. What? well, 
The seasons, of course 
But I love best of all the
Season known as autumn
I love it best, I do. Fall

Love is

Love is tender as fresh 
Shoots of grass in the
Spring; sweet as new
Milk still warm; soft as
Velvet tight against the
Skin; easy as a breeze
Ruffling your hair on a
Cloudless day. Love is
A reason for being; a 
Cause to be; a force as
Strong as the waves in
A surfer's dreams; calm
As a lake at sunset. It
Moves you. It haunts
You. It holds you. Love
Is as steady as a tailor's
Hand. Warm as an early
Summer's day. Love is
As hot, cold, surprising
As the seasons. Love is.

Across a night sky

Across two nights across the 
Night sky lit from within lit by
A waning sun a rising moon 
My skyline offers me drama
With a touch of dramamine.
That last bit is just an LOL or
A "ha" not an aha. There is a
Peace in its symmetry and in
Just how nature blends then
Highlights what man clearly
Is building across two nights
Across the night sky lit by a
Setting sun, or, by electricity,
From within or by the moon

Age old questions

The sun creates both sunlight 
And shadow each an inverse 
Of the other. It's shadows that
Seem the stronger one, written
On the granite face of the walk.
Elusive markings dependent on
Time of day position of the sun
Where they fall they also lead as
If they were breadcrumbs in a
Tale of Hansel or Gretel in their
Escape from a witch who only
Wants to fatten them, her cook
Pot awaiting the moment; they
Awaiting the run-for-it that sets
Them free. Shadows in a forest,
Following the crumbs that birds
Have messed on the way home.
Out of the shadows into the light.

History will tell

Who is your favorite historical figure?

Too many people to admire or
Fear or laud if history is a guide.
Amelia Earhart took to the air,
Oh my. Flying, it's so tempting.
And a pilot is such an enviable
Person. Then, too, she was an
Accomplished woman. Freud,
He wrote a blueprint for living
And set a practice by which to
Define the intricacies of all our
Minds. Was he obsessed with
Pardon the expression s-e-x? If
Yes, his prose proved the most 
Beautiful expression of how we
Grow and emerge as humans.
More contemporaneous people
Whose reputation I can covet
Include Mother Teresa? No, I 
Have no wish at sainthood so
Even Joan of Arc is safe from
My desires. Joan Rivers? Yes,
Maybe. If so, because laughter
Was her gift to a world in tears.

Light/Dark

Here I stand, trying to capture the
Essence of a sky so nuanced that
It eludes words. Its portrait won't 
Stand still for my machinations or
The manipulations of the light. I do
See more than my lens or a pencil
Can impart. I claim it all as my own
It is my view after all, but I miss the
Point, lose track of the essential as
I ponder the details and minutiae
This is the close-up I need to capture
If I want to stay true to the vision I see
From all the characteristics of beauty I 
Can only lay witness to some and gape
As the sky unfolds before me light and
Dark. It is my view after all but I miss
The point, lose track of the essential.
The essence is the mystery of night
Falling. I looked up at this one moment.
This is the close-up I need to capture

1. My Mark

Withdrawn

I trust my vision to 
Others, that's why
I hit publish so fast.
Unsure if what I say
Will land or stand.
Sharing it with you
Is all I can do. I feel
Like Florence Foster
Jenkins, promoting 
My shakiest high 
Notes. Sending my
Thoughts, my poems
To the ether of the
Internet is my social 
Act, making my mark,
Making it -whatever
It may be- sing or fly
Poem 2 Cloud Cover

My head is up in
The clouds as I
Have so often told
You, that collective
You to whom I write
For whom I write.
The clouds are my
Magic carpet, my 
Highway to heaven.
A route so ephemeral 
I fear to tread on its
Soft shoulders and
Wonder where they
Will take me just as
I wonder where they
Have gone as they 
Float by and away.

	


	







	

		
3. Profound/Ordinary
	


	
	

		

Submitted. Withdrawn





I have been prolific,
Writing poems of
Maturity, of aging,
Poetry of memory,
Poems of mortality.
I have loved on paper
As in life. Wanted and
Longed. Remembered.
I have written it all
Down, to share with
You. My poems tell
Stories, paint scenes,
Sometimes profound,
Most often mundane.
That is what a life is.
That is how ours goes,
From heights of drama
To the ordinary, the 
Beautiful. The every day.