Oh forest, how I wish to wander in your serenity, beneath your leaves, and get lost in you.
Oh trees, how I long to speak to you by whispering to you, about my adventures through the mangroves.
Mangroves are not easy to walk through due to the branching roots that stick out of the ground.
Oh forest, I love you so much, due to your animals and crunch of leaves underfoot as I walk through you.
Oh forest, please tell me of your secrets to earthly wisdom, so I can share it with my family and friends.
It’s pretty obvious that dogs are simple
Yet alert and engaged creatures.
They live in the moment
And are alive to everything that fills their senses.
In this they are like most animals.
What I often wonder is what do they get from us,
Us with our sense of abstract time
And third person perspective?
Does this perspective rub off on them,
Bleed into their minds the way other mental illnesses
Can become contagious?
Since they are such great empaths
Do they get a sense of our otherness
Our uniquely differentness
Which we call consciousness
And value so highly?
Or are they actually not so different than us,
Conscious but not egotistically so
More like dog-like
Simple and honest, enthusiastic and something
We humans seem to find so difficult,
Relaxedly so.
(10/3/26)
This couplet is about a hen
~ once again
Beakons of Hope
Free my will finally at last
Reasons unknown
God keep me from being destructive to myself
Highly sought is your Favor, to keep me from despairing in my lonely thoughts
I have at night
The Devil doesn't know it, it's his own foot that is caught in the snare
As I seek your guidance and look to the stars to find my path
What is known, it all depends on You
It's all in Your hands
What the Future brings, Oh! my God I hope to see you there
In Heaven where I store my treasure
I only hope to see your face
That I smile and put away this put away this gloomy feeling that I have
As a lamp your word lights my path
As I observe your Holiness
It's the example to my eyes
Help me to realize what to do at the moment I cry for help
Let it be as a reminder to all those who have been in a jam
Nothing can be finer
Than to sit in a recliner
When you’re reading.
Though this may be minor,
Not each furniture designer
Thinks you’re needing
Comfort for your tootsies
When you stretch your feet.
Horizontal footsies
Make relaxing complete.
Ottomans will let ‘ya
Put your feet up, too, I betcha,
When you’re streaming.
Don’t let nothing sweat ‘ya,
For an ottoman will get ‘ya
Close to beaming.
You don’t need an empire,
Just a living room space
To get unwound within your own place.
Nothing’s really finer
Than a foot rest or recliner
To start dreaming.
Stanza 1
Lost in a loop again,
Where assurances polished,
But actions stay missing.
Stanza 2
Lost in a loop again,
Hearing lips craft carefully
Sentences,
That collapse once the room
ejects.
Stanza 3
Lost in a loop again,
Where apologies come
Pre-packaged,
But accountability never
Conveys.
Stanza 4
Lost in a loop again,
Listening to voices rehearse
Integrity,
Like a script they never intend to perform.
Stanza 5
Lost in a loop again,
Caught between what they
Say
And what they refuse to do.
Stanza 6
Lost in a loop again,
And the echo becomes a
Warning,
That lip service is just
Another silence.
Late spring light drifts across the room,
a cornflower wash that settles on everything
the way dust settles on keepsakes
no one means to forget.
You lift the mirror,
its edge still cool from the windowsill,
and the glass catches a glimmer
that doesn’t stay still~
it f l i c k e r s, almost shy,
as if deciding whether to show you
what it remembers.
Your reflection w a v e r s,
not dramatically, just enough
to remind you that memory
rarely arrives in straight lines.
It comes in small echoes,
soft ones, the kind that lean
toward you when the afternoon quiets
and you finally have time
to notice what stays.
In a requiem of situations we think we can get control
But we must have the clearest of sight to receive what we must know
We allow a mundane moment to define our way
But we hastened our desire so that we may one day escape.
Solstice in a Velvet Hush
Written September 10, 2026 for Your Personal Poetry Wheel Challenge
Challenge Dates: September 7, 2026 - September 12, 2026.
Verified by HMS.COM / 8 - 8 - 5 - 5 - 8
***************
Relationships bloom in the hush,
Where solstice stomps its purple flush.
No anger, no storm,
Just calmness in form,
A feather of love in the crush.
Written September 10, 2026 for Your Personal Poetry Wheel Challenge
Challenge Dates: September 7, 2026 - September 12, 2026.
Verified by HMS.COM / 8 - 8 - 5 - 5 - 8
***************
Relationships bloom in the hush,
Where solstice stomps its purple flush.
No anger, no storm,
Just calmness in form,
A feather of love in the crush.
the baby blackbird sits bewildered
in a teacup trimmed with gold,
soft roses gathered around its small, shaken body.
a silver spoon lies in the leaves,
as if some trembling kindness wandered through
and let a frightened scrap of sky drop into porcelain~
a moment so slight, the world almost forgot
how fragile mercy can be.
No star. No light. No candle burns.
The heart, once warm, is cold and still.
To rock, to lifeless stone it turns —
A tomb, shut fast, in night as chill.
And in that tomb, so cold, so bare,
Lies Love made flesh, and crucified.
No breath. No voice. No answer there.
The world stood dark the hour He died.
Then Joseph came, a secret friend,
And begged the Body, cold as clay;
He wrapped his Lord, and knelt to tend
The wounds, in grief and in dismay.
There Christ lay on the stone, alone
His journey through the world was done;
No warmth was left in flesh or bone;
The earth cried out beneath the sun.
No grief had ever pierced so sore,
No heart had ever bowed its head —
The dark that day was dark far more
Than any dark before the dead.
Yet lower still His spirit came,
Down to the deep, where dead men lay,
And broke the bonds of ancient shame
That held our father, bound for aye.
Far in the east, a light was born —
Not warm, not gold, but cold and thin;
No man yet knew, that fearful morn,
If Life could ever wake within.
Hanging almost angelically.
It's praying for a breeze with a perfect pace.
Too soft, and it risks being exposed for being too fragile.
Too hard, and it risks being labelled too harsh and too cold.
The wind chime is singing so softly today.
It has mastered the art of veiling grief.
A bird on the blue bush is tilting its beak, listening closely.
A brief reprieve from its nest of ever-hungry beaks.
Here comes that hurricane again, tangling the singing wood and strings.
Whisking sanity away. Strays gather in clusters of desperation.
Where children are told not to play, they rarely listen.
Then comes that prolonged lull.
Jagged thoughts gather themselves in spectacular futility.
The stillness is framed in a rugged mud,
An endless procession of pallbearers' deep gray.
Cherubs are trained to wade into hopelessness,
At the risk of getting graffitied. They always listen.
Then bumble home with wings sprayed in blood and a harsh lesson.
Yesterday everybody quietly slipped away.
Searching for a fresh melody of optimism.
Nobody fancies being swallowed up by the gray.
Nothing is salvaged from a wind chime after a hurricane
I'll give you an idea of what I'm thinking
let you into my darkest room
I'll hold your hand just to comfort
peel your eyes you'll see soon
in the silence of the night
sitting all on my own
I offer myself help
and try lighten the gloom
Talking to myself
stacking thoughts on a shelf
in a darkened room
only light is my screen
in a darkened room
I 'm allowed to dream
In my mind I'm a superstar
been around the world
In my mind I'm superior
my flag has been unfurled
my dreams are ghosts in the dark
and they are haunting me
I'm still building a Noah's ark
and filling with my fantasies
Nothing outside these four walls
in my tiny prison cell
the world doesn't exist, thank god
so glad I'm on my own
In my darkened room
Atmosphere and emotion.
Smoke, confusion.
Lose themselves, in mad-sent ways
Once trapped therein.
Sensibilities, pure-eyed
Shockably wide
Dull. And o'erexposed, contract;
To a cynic's grin.
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