Category: determination
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Red shift
somewhere along the journey you joined the retreat from darkness before the bang black sky between stars full with galaxies of light bright flash chases after you unable to catch up if we stop pushing each other away allow Creation to blind us of our darkness effulgent crimson becomes an ark sailing on seas of…
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Dance
to the prompt: Dancing ======================= Dance at the sock hop, the prom, the sweetheart formal. Dance in your bedroom alone in the dark. Dance to the memory of swirling, sweaty, young bodies. Dance when everyone has a partner and you’re the odd one out. Dance in the corn, the beans or fields of fluffy white…
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Mini-ice-age
(The prompt for a monthly workshop I host was ‘Sediment’. I don’t often do rhyming poems, but as I wrote my poem several rhymes appeared naturally so I went ahead and made the rhyming scheme uniform.) Beneath the sky As ancient whispers blow cold, Glaciogenic breaths take hold, Mountains carved with frozen scars, Etched by…
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Long distance runner
Mother, poet, educator Always pushing yourself Harder, faster, longer We just sat down to watch If we knew it was a sprint We would have come sooner And paid better attention (for the poet, Michele Reese) 7-31-23
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Plum blossom slippers
Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.(Thich Nhat Hanh) written for a poetry workshop: Rejoice in the morning of your survival Above your head a crow shakes last night’s rain from leaves Haploid to diploid fertility dance In the dewy dawn moss comes green The weight of your burden is carried…
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I do not own a gun
My two older sisters had matching dolls. I had cars and trucks, a Roy Rogers’ holster with a silver cap gun. I used to hide in their closet and played with their dolls when no one was around. My mother was a girl scout leader; I know all the songs. I belonged to the boy…
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Focus
Some days all you see is dirty brown pond water focus on the attribute of reflection green trees and blue skies 5-3-23
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haiku for an expansive life
four directions faced? four elements of matter? refuse to be boxed 2-19-23
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Parking lot civics
Last night, I dreamed of the old man who used to rest his hand on my head while talking with dad in the parking lot after church. He lived in an old clapboard farmhouse where gravel turned to blacktop and subdivisions grew among the corn. Rooted in old settler stock, he ran for state legislature…
My husband's poetry 