Montana sky is as bright blue as it can ever be
I stare at the pines and aspens, feeling free
the air is as fresh and crisp as God could make
Coaxed, I feel a need for a picture take
Knowing full well it will never wholly do
will not capture essence of this sky of blue
the mountains twinkle with mica in a brave way
I feel this is God’s gift to me today
the only noise I hear is chattering bird speak
there is no movement from me to the mountain peak
It is as if God and I are here alone today
Nirvana on earth, I feel validated in a way.
the dog groomer whirled into our home today
My name is Kay, she said, we liked her right away
The dogs did not run from her, they stood as still as a broom
She had an easy time doing their nails, hair and their groom
I just need you to spot them, she said to me
There was no time for crumpets or tea
The cookies I made sat until they were cold
But her technique was wonderful, big and bold
Each dog took their turn on her tall table
She cajoled and coaxed them as she was able
Next time I’ll bring my own dog, she told me.
Kay was in demand, too booked up to stay for a cooky.
Autumn braids
the murmuring of silver grass
and seats the fields
Autumn draws
the long sigh of maple leaves
and lays the mountains down
Autumn softens
the reproach of chrysanthemums
and lulls the river to sleep
By the riverside
the reproach of chrysanthemums is soothed
and quietly falls asleep
By the mountainside
the long sigh of maple leaves is coaxed
and gently lies down
Across the fields
the murmuring of silver grass gathers
and sits in stillness
she lived in a world of lopsided pinks, yellows and purples
he favored tans, grays, blacks and crisp clean white
they disliked each other the first few times they met
their encounters were as catastrophic as a natural disaster
This changed when they were stuck in an elevator together
It happened at 5:47 p.m. on a Friday night in 1979.
They were the only two in there – chameleon and analytic.
This was before cell phones, and the elevator phone was broken.
At first, they were silent, not paying attention to each other.
But she is a Gemini, and Gemini loves to talk and listen.
She coaxed information out of this set-in-his-ways Libra.
Their friends said it would never last.
They are still married forty-six years later
After my children, I blended into a new being
Mommy, someone selfless and giving
A person who forgot what hobbies and friends were
I threw myself into their lives, as if my life depended upon it
as if I did not have a life at all, really
the only value I saw in me was through them
But my children grew up, moved away, started families
I had lots of extra time on my hands; what to do with it?
My granddaughter coaxed me into painting
I loved that; ran with it as if I was on fire
my enthusiasm for that rarely waned
After it did I remembered that I used to write
I picked up a pen, and began writing stories and poems
Sixteen hundred paintings and 34, 000 poems later
I remember there was a me
before my children came
and she is back.
Age, baby steps across the icy pond
scorpions tap-tap-tap the flesh
the sun hovers brittle and honest.
An unknown selects the spot
passages are drilled then gleaned
seasons tangle-miracles are imminent.
The line quivers, age dons a child's heart
silver thrash is coaxed into silence-
as memories flaunt their fractured crowns
...a wall, a vow, a flag encased in glass
the birth of birdsong-whispers of loves long dead.
A bird bleeds color along the shore
age thinks the truest smile
is the one performed alone.
Evening's grand candles commence
crooning a miracle's lament.
Only then does age re-enter the ice forest
leaving the pond alone but unforgotten.
Too much of badness..Like we know the drill.' It was rife in 2020, and applied by
Morons. To dil's.' Over-speak was full volume.' By media machines all lip gloss
And salad-tossed words; so serene.' You
Were coaxed and encouraged, and most
Un-dernourished' cajoled with free snacks
To sell out each other, the classic Jacob
And Esau brother act.' Scene of false narration; still
Are deep scars on our Nations.' Deception of the
Tounge, is how the rotten play was begun'
No free thought; or speech.? Its mal-direction, its the beginning of infections it
Will create sickeness and division, so make
The best decesion, choose clarity by intuition.' ben shapirio its so; no no..
As once any fourth grader..Would have made you know.' I thank God for mental
Immunity, for by His teachings I reject your
Nudge with unfiltered impunity.' No third way
No compliance; or fudge.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midwinter’s blush—not born of frost,
but coaxed from shadows when days shrink
to slivers. A star-shaped constellation
pressed between panes, each scarlet leaf
a silent flare against winter’s gray.
Some call it flor de Nochebuena,
flower of the Holy Night~
as if crimson could hold reverence,
as if a plant remembers angels
or the weight of a child’s breath.
Yet here it stands: unbothered by theology,
a bold geometry of joy.
Watch how its gold-tipped stamens
ignite like votives~
not praying, simply being light.
On its plinth, behushed, at hall's end
Beneath clock, coaxed backwards
Privet-pungent, in its own
Sighed out thin light's regard.
At day's sagging end, dredging up
More dust, shuffling, each nears
Its emotional-responsive charge.
As with priest's holy fears.
Filling up for yore, propelled rough
Perpetual mud, that was
So light held what were golden times!
So thoughtless, a gemmed mass.
I am happy you carried the burden
to the quiet bench at dawn,
and for the few worth saving,
you opened your hands like morning petals.
You have climbed your silent mountains,
held your values to the sun—
I did not know the way,
but you did.
I lived only by the mercy of hope,
by the small, trembling light
you coaxed to stay.
Blessed is the head of the law,
steady as a lantern in wind,
and blessed are those
who do not bar your path.
All the trees in the forest bow—
save one that stands stout with knowing,
its bark a testament,
its heartwood strong.
Around it, leather-bound books breathe quietly,
healthy, wise,
waiting at your command,
rising like warm breath
from your lips.
In the early days of Summer
I still lingered on the vine
not yet ripe enough for picking
not ready to be sipped as fine wine
Soon, I blossomed with desire
It raged deep down inside of me
burning me like tongues of fire
I needed only to be tenderly peeled
When his fingers gently touched me
the time had come for me to yield
With sensuous lips he coaxed me
On passion's hunger we both dined
through each night until dawn's light
he suckled my sweet summer wine
You are that feral fox
that’s wild and wary
not easily won over
needing to be approached with caution
ever so gently to be coaxed to trust
Opening up in bits and bites
get to know me slowly
get used to me in increments
i’m an acquired taste
a rose blooming in its own time
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I used to make up excuses
I would have a funeral, a wedding, a cruise, something
Whenever I did not want to do something
I would get coaxed and cajoled, and sometimes would give in
Despising my inability to say no to these interlopers
Wishing I was brave enough to tell them the truth
I have either gotten senile or wiser with my new age
Not sure which
But now I have one answer
And it works
And no one coaxes me or cajoles me
I say “I don’t want to”
It is the perfect reply
Dry logs redden and snap;
The fire is soon impressive.
The wolf moon takes better shape
As night begins to settle in.
I watch the conflagration spike;
A spark flies off, then others
Like the universe had coaxed them
To become one of the stars.
1.
Raucous winds sweep pristine waves
against gods' sepulchral canvas as
stagnant, sharp wings' frames rose from malnourished hearts;
ends of elongated crosses marked beginnings
of rotten, venomous roots plugged into dead matter.
2.
Hollowed caverns invaded by calloused fingers
coaxed bitter nectar and pellucid beads:
thus, gashed, aqueous sacs polluted by darkening crimson
rolled down the silken passage.
With each bite, a story is devoured as
monotonous beats of the gnawed linger in the air,
a saccharine image of carnage and raven barbs.
3.
Rough trunks and polished branches - that reached for the fleating dark
blended into mirrored snowy and sickening magenta -
tell stories of woven arrows of bleakness and despair,
a myriad of similar, blurring threads plunging:
upon the lost and benevolent,
upon the putrid and vice,
nonchalantly.
4.
Yearning, bony grip interrupted hasty steps;
despite their current state,
these wane pits easily found mine
(like never before)
their intimate, lost vigor fueling my disdain as
superficial longing clashed with a guarded soul
finally certain of similarities and your self-induced downfall.
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