Tag Archives: Poetry


Coral tinged fingers of his stamens
pointed motionlessly with eloquent
yet fragile strength toward the brilliant sky.
As Spring rapidly swiveled into Summer,
the bloom anticipated
the cleaning of his filaments and anthers –
the precious pollen and nectar must be shared.
Safety and survival of his species
hung in the balance!
Where were the Bees?

Inspired by the words of the latest Sunday Whirl – Wordle #30


Dawn on Hales Passage

The latest wordle words from the Sunday Whirl.

Rusted-out glaze smears through
ragged clouds and the crystal crusted
mountain echoes that rosy hue
marking a fresh beginning.

Leaning from the edge of his craft,
the gnarly purse-seiner
straightens stretched webs –
the net’s necklace strung with floats
rolling over into the icy sea;
the little skiff dragging it ’round to bridge the gap ‘tween.
The bottom now prepared to be sewn up tight as a purse,
boiling and shimmering with terrified sardines.

The blades of eel-grass nod
and bide time with our fisher;
waiting for a flood of the
incoming and phosphorescent tide .

Yearning For a NEW Kind of SAD

 Intoxicating exhilaration of the
azure, golden-light season
had bathed and nourished
each and every cell deep into my soul
so convincingly, I thought (ha!)
the impending dark equinox veil
could evaporate, at MY will
and, THIS year refrain
from penetrating Summer’s shiny bright shield.

Ah yes, there were all the
usual and positive Autumnal clichés…
the quivering leaves were
displaying such richness of hues and
oh, isn’t that a crispy Fall breeze?
A cozy time for walks and talks,
clarity, hugs and gratitude,
fires, smoke and candles,
savoring naps, books and gravy-rich meals.

The ides of September cleverly infected
my deceptive bottomless-buoyancy
with just a nuance of restlessness and nostalgia
now gently evolving into a
general malaise of fatigue and
sinking into an all too familiar
tempo of hibernation, depression and solitude.
Is it futile – this annual S.A.D. gloom-contest:
Melatonin versus Serotonin?

Or just maybe, one day, my Autumnal journey
WILL take me somewhere new?

Using the Theme Thursday October 20th theme of NEW

Notes:  Each year I join countless others (especially up here in the North) who experience Seasonal Affectation Disorder (S.A.D.)  And each year I head into the season with optimism that THIS year, somehow, it will be different.  I have used various methods to keep my Spring/Summertime “sunny” disposition: meditation, medication, exercise, light therapy, prayer. 

The darkness of the season ushers in a period where I crave sleep and carbs.  At its worst, one can be hardly motivated to just get up and get dressed.  This year, I am purchasing a larger, more convenient SAD light (which I will be using without making a conscious effort) and in the spirit of this “theme” of “NEW” I am (ahead of time) scheduling NEW activities into my life (pray that I don’t cancel out in a fit of depression.)  I am determined to keep an even keel.  My doctor and I have discussed using a certain medication starting just in October and weaning off it towards April.  But I’m holding out to find a more natural way to cope (moving VERY South for the Winter might help!) 


Catskill Mud

The jolt preceded just the week before
and that quake was No Big Deal.

Irene, then Lee, cut through
each Catskill hollow and hamlet –
where ancient streams flow and pass.

Now bold, roaring rivers of mud
scrape away trees, bridges, buildings.

The Simple details of life
are Urgent or Not.

Hands in her pockets,
the waitress said with dignity,
“We were So Lucky, we only lost a car,
and just the downstairs flooded.”

While visiting my sister in Phoenicia, NY, we witnessed the flooding devastation inflicted by hurricanes Irene and Lee. The last line of the poem was uttered by our waitress as we sat at the counter of the Sun Frost café located somewhere between Woodstock and Bearsville. We found that the most current flooding news was always at the diners and cafés. It was heartwarming to see such generosity and compassion – people who weren’t totally wiped out eagerly offered whatever they had left to others – furniture, clothes, vehicles.

The words are taken from Wordle #21 from this week’s Sunday Whirl.

Cave Creek Junction

Birdlike blooms quivering
     in the desert dusk,

as hordes of lizards crawl
    over pallid sands.

The women rack-up another set,
      joking, goofing off and waiting…

The cowboys,
     donning rhinestone studded shirts,
     and big hats – hitch the horses outside.

Another Friday night at
     the Horny Toad Bar and Grill…

With a wink and a nod to the real deal in
 Cave Creek AZ and using the 12 wordle-words in Sunday Whirl #20.

Keepin’ the Blues Alive!

Fervent fans trickle onto the grassy grounds
after unloading lawn chairs and coolers from the trunk.
Joe the proprietor is eyeing the crowd –
fingers crossed for a turnout and a profit.

Cloaking the perimeter, a cacophony of tie-dyed sheeting
stretched ’round and fused with that throbbin’ Bo Didley beat…
guarantees passers-by will be obliged to pay the fee
if they want to see the sounds that tease.

Hour after hour, band after band takes a turn on-stage,
Groaning, twanging, belting, tinkling, rasping and cranking out
Nothin’ but the blues.

As the set finishes, human ants shoulder
massive loads of gear to and fro, through the throng –
Guitars, amps, basses, washboards, saxes and keyboards.
Transitions and the sound checks mess with the programming,

But it’s all cool…

Ok and now it’s The Chainsaw Blues.
I am telling you the truth:
The guy has a saw revved-up AND
is playing it!

SPF70 residue, caked with sprinkles of dust,
now decorates my feet.
We are grateful as the welcome breeze sweeps through
the hurts-your-eyes-brilliant-blue skies
and cools our sun kissed skins.
Sweat and sunscreen running down my arm
have smudged my “I
the Blues!” entry stamp.
I’ve drained the vessel holding my ice-tea.
No matter, it’s time to enjoy an ice-cold beer.

And the turnout: twirling, ruffle-skirted little ones,
Climbing, running urchins, smoking teens, pencil-thin pubescent girls,
Pot-bellied, bopping grey hip-cats, young Moms and babes,
And even Grannies. Every flavor of age, size, hue, and OH… the attire!
Dancin’, tappin’, clappin’, rockin’ and keepin’ the blues alive.

Inspired while attending the 2nd Annual Lummi Island Blues Festival,
And using the 12 words in Sunday Whirl #19.

Summer of LOVE … An Ode to a DOG DAY of Summer

It’s not Raining, the Sun is out – the Dog is an old one;
He doesn’t know he’s old or sick.
Bradley is my Grand-Dog and
He is waiting for me to awaken and sip some coffee.

We cuddle and I enjoy my caffeine.
And now it’s time! Bradley-The-Wonder-Dog
Can tell – it’s Time For A W-A-L-K!
It doesn’t need to be said, or even spelled.
The cadence of our morning routine has evolved into a
Comfortable groove; full of certain expectations.

There are signs most days…
That preparations are underway,
And are not moving along quite fast enough:

A half empty coffee mug set down,
Shoes and socks now retrieved and going on,
Finding my jacket, sunglasses, cell phone, his leash,
And finally the smoothing and folding of 3 “poop bags”…

The poop bags sliding into my pocket trigger a resonating bark,
Such a look of love and appreciation, much tail wagging, and
Finally sitting still and silent, for the leash snapping onto his collar.

And we’re off!
Bradley takes his walk seriously; no tail wagging while in motion.
But he is stopping to pee every 20 feet, it seems,
And pooping after about a half-block.

Thank you, Karen!
I know you don’t mind.
A little bag of poop in the trash can
You left on the roadside.

Down to the Church. Ah yes!
A walk we’ve done before, but
Today, it is with my new eyes;
To see things as the Dog does?!

Why didn’t I bring my camera?
Would it capture the Awe?
I wonder…

Past the Church and Cemetery,
Down the Wooded pathway to the
Labyrinth’s natural cathedral
Of Treed walls
And Sky-blue dome.
Bradley stays with me this time,
As we wind along the way
To the Sacred Center.
6 Slugs on the pathway,
The Muddy Moss sinking and worn
With the steps of previous visitors,

And once we’re to the Center,
The old Dog grows impatient and
Signals: Time to Move On.
Now he leads past the picnic tables,
Past the Memorial Stone Bench and its lonely Pine,
And down the Hidden Steps.

Now onto the Stony Beach…
Rhythmic slapping of the Waves in tune with the
Swooshing, rustling of the Breeze –
Oh how Divine! And the
Navy Blue Sea (has it ever been this Color before?!)
With petite lacy White-Caps
(are those Diamonds sparkling out there too?)
And then looking up…
The tips of Lummi Mountain, and Mount Constitution,
Each smothered by Foggy grey Clouds.

We plod along the slippery Coastline;
I, being careful not to slip on the smooth wet Rocks, or the
Green-bright-fresh slimy Sea-Grass bordering the Water’s edge.
Dog, being not so careful.
For an old Dog, he’s nimble, much more than I am!
Leaping the white Driftwood Logs – no problem; and they smell
Very Interesting, observes the Dog.
Some so white and smooth,
Some so rough and home to chomping Bugs,
Soaking with Saltiness.
I wonder: what is the Story of their Journey here to this Shore?

We pass the “Private Beach” sign (Private? “Ha!” I think.)
Soon Brad does a U-turn and we head back.
So interested in the Smells is he and
Interested in the Driftwood Forts am I,
That we are surely past the Entrance-To-Our-Exit…
So another U-turn and yes, there it is:
The Secluded Opening, allowing our ascent to the
Island Bluff and the Church grounds.

Heading up the Stone filled steps and through the
Verdant tunnel of Branches, Leaves, Needles –
Is it always this Spectacular?

Climbing up and out,
Back along the civilized and mulched trail
(a blessing of thanks to the soul who did this –
Now I don’t get soggy shoes!)
Through the Church parking lot, past the cluster of mailboxes,
Down to the red-roofed green home
Nestled behind the splendid Roses, and
Down within sight of Legoe Bay and now
We are standing by its back water.

No Ducks and Ducklings today.
But the ever present lap-lappity-lap of the calm Waves in the Bay;
The trills, chirps, tweets and squawks of God-Knows-How-Many Birds.
Down past the waving flag for a
Quick count of the Reef Net fishing boats;
Are there 6 or 7? It’s tricky to tell from this angle.
Soon they will be hauling fish out there…

We make another U-turn.
We are heading towards home and,
It is time for another poop.
We are back to the Church grounds…

I hope they don’t mind!
A little bag of poop in their trash can?
No I’m sure they don’t.

Behind the Church, I notice Brad’s Ears are perked and
His Eyes are glued toward The Way to the Labyrinth.
Two Fawns scamper over to the Labyrinth sign and then
Head in for their Labyrinth Walk.

We’re back home now and,
The Grand Dog is Snoring on “our” gold chair;
A nice wide chair where we snuggled, and
I sipped my morning coffee just this morning.

The old Dog is not hungry.
He hasn’t eaten all day and,
It’s almost lunch-time. I urge him and,
Attempt to tempt him with his
Special prescription dog food;
He has no appetite.
I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich and slice an apple.
I carry my lunch and Bradley’s lunch out to our Sunny deck.
Now We eat. (Note: even dogs enjoy company at mealtime!)

We know, as the Day warms up,
There will be Time to lay on the Grass in our Flowery yard.
Brad will find the warmest and driest spot to start with;
Then when the Sun cooks his Bones, he’ll move to Shade,
Then look for a compromise between Sun and Shade,
Maybe Dappled? Maybe on the edge of Shade-Meets-Sunshine.
I will move my chair accordingly;
Then he will nuzzle up and gaze at me,
Reassuring himself that we can
Stay out as long as he wants.

Of course we can…

These are The Dog Days of Summer we share… Days of Love.
And the old dog shares an old Lesson, a Lesson worth repeating:
The Joy of Unconditional Love.
Maybe the closest we get to knowing Divine Love?
And the Lesson of Slowing Down to Smell the Whatever;
And that, although this Life’s Journey can be so Fleeting,
There is So Much to Enjoy and Appreciate Each Moment…