the sky gathers itself, a slow inhalation,
blue thinning to a thoughtful gray
as leaves hold their breath along the fence line.
then the first drop—hesitant, deliberate~
touches down like a small confession,
and the world pauses, listening.
The distant deep begins a
low refrain,
A heavy breath upon the
ocean floor,
A rising power born of wind
and rain,
That rolls in secret toward
the waiting shore.
It lifts its crest against the
fading light,
A liquid wall of sapphire,
fierce and high,
A sudden shadow cutting
through the night,
To trace its spine across the
open sky.
Then comes the crash, a
brilliant flash of foam,
A roar that shakes the sand
beneath our feet,
As if the wild expanse has
found its home,
And makes its long,
tumultuous life complete.
But soon the thunder fades
into a sigh,
To leave a mirror for the
evening sky.
A word
is a story seeming to
invite more stories
and those gather more~
A story lengthens
hoping to come closer to
truth or grace or love~
Yet stories are already
an appearance of these~~
I stand here disconnected
from my stressful life,
listening in silence
to chapped leaves whistling.
Reflecting on this
solitary moment,
a time when my soul needs
to recharge.
Before raindrops
distract my thoughts,
and i compose myself once more.
Watching God answer your needs
as i too have felt his presence.
Call your family,
not out of obligation,
but because something in you
remembers their voices
before the years began to scatter them.
Let the line ring long enough
to feel the distance,
then soften
when it is finally bridged.
Help decorate the tree,
not for how it will look,
but for the small and sacred ritual
of placing each memory
back where it belongs.
The ornaments will know your hands.
They always have.
Remember what it means to you,
not what was told,
but what was felt
in the quiet glow of it all.
Outside, the snow is falling,
as it always seems to
when the world is trying
to hush itself into stillness.
Tell the stories
that have outlived their years,
the ones passed down
in fragments and laughter,
in voices that grow softer
with time.
Hold them gently.
They are more fragile than they seem.
And when the night leans toward ending,
when the year loosens its final breath,
keep something.
A card, a word, a moment
pressed carefully into memory.
For these are the things
that remain
when the season has passed,
the quiet evidence
that we were here,
together.
Treasure hunting
glossy objects--
as glorious
Easter Sunday ends.
Thanking Jesus,
for some eggs,
chocolatey wabbits,
Heaven's cream gems.
autopoiesis
utilize the ambient
contextual eyes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
frost-cracked acorn shells
their tiny paws gathering
winter's pantry full
What a delight to get together
for our annual festive dinner
Both the Devil and Frankenstein
drinking warm blood of swine
Other guests welcomed from mummies
scarecrows ghosts goblins zombies
Count Dracula and Witch Hazel
oops ~ brew is ready for appraisal
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Shh! don't make any peeps.
But it's in our nature to make many more peeps.
Say ouija ouija ouija, to move the marker to true aim.
Say one too many times or too few less and you have made a grave sin.
Hands free writing gets a new meaning when using telepathy.
Or would you just call it automatic writing?
PEEK A BOO, now I see YOUZ.
Coming back from the banished zone of silence.
Thanks be to youz, bleeping peeps.
I am free to explore these other dimensions further away from my damnation.
Compounding the holy with common festivities.
Naturally makes for a truly holy festival.
Cheers to the man holding the skull aware of his final destination.
Frans Hals hails the successful seance.
eager goldfinch
gather at my birdfeeder
~ a family feast
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
POTD September 1, 2025
The first Wednesday of the month
we sit around the table and share
poems written with care and revised.
We take in their shapes and forms
and read between the lines.
We gasp with wonder about creations
and search for other words
to make each verse stronger.
Each of us has written volumes by now
the lives we shared month-by-month.
A retired lawyer has returned
from his vacation in Spain
and I’m back from four years
of traveling through the Midwest for work.
The sights shape nuances of our pieces.
Each of us takes the time allowed to read
and get feedback but time slips from our fingers.
At eight PM, the library closes.
Our conversations continue in the hallways
and as we move toward the stairs.
I take in the sight of paintings and stop
when I see the shadow of the group’s founder
on the wall. She nods at me.
It was a somber cloudy day, sadness weighed heavy on us all. The family gathered to pay final respects. Gregorian chant filled the air as we looked up to heaven. We were burying a good man. He had been a role model, a loving husband and a caring father.
the finality
painfully sinking in
goodbyes surreal
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 26, 2025 for CEMETERY contest sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 2ND
Dust drops like silent thoughts, neglected
over the piano lid, shut quiet and still.
Some dust we keep as mementos
in a chaotic pile of keepsakes.
Some we wipe away on a rainy day,
with windows wide open to keep it from our nostrils.
We wipe away the fingerprints left by
the guilty one, the cleaner upper-er,
to leave no trace for retribution.
Neglect, retention, renewal, recollection,
detritus, waste, tidy-up and decay,
all converge when
we live our lives and gather dust,
and we dust up the gathering.
Lamentable, the family gathering
on the other side of sunshine,
with possessions no longer bothering,
sans loving cups, draining of wine.
Great-grands, grands, aunts, uncles, cousins and unborn,
one mom, a nephew, memories
their perspectives (only they carry). Torn,
yellowed pages of treasuries.
Climbing steps, silver dollars, and finger gloves,
savory chicken and dumplings,
boat on the lake, seashells on velvet (these loves)
tricks and treats, some were just ducklings.
Soft hands, warmer heart; silver in corner chair;
the teaser (he died way too young)
To each I lift my thoughts - they are laid bare.
Kindly, ancestors, I’m among.
All, go the byway, to our destination.
What will our progeny recall?
What bouquet of ours sets forth sensation?
Together we’ll be, blessings fall.
Lacrimal vessels are filled - our love, fearsome.
Eyes salty and brightened.
Peace comes after tears, reveling in wisdom.
Capacity to care, heightened.
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