Unexpected winds of winter may be best remembered by broken sticks and branches and pinecone piles, long buried since late December – now debris, freed from snow: a seasonal backyard surrender
— for Slice of Life
A place to gather words before they get lost.
Unexpected winds of winter may be best remembered by broken sticks and branches and pinecone piles, long buried since late December – now debris, freed from snow: a seasonal backyard surrender
— for Slice of Life
Forever changed is what they’ll be: these Children of the Pandemic
Whether shaped by panic or fear or the greater good - no child today escapes where the world once stood and now, stands at a fragile start
the hope for all rests with open heart, nurtured by together and not by distance dividing us apart
-for Slice of Life
Tongues filled with iron; dipping lips cherish water where nature has been
living – these unknown forces lost to imagination
— for Water Poem Project (a Tanka poem of taste)
It's just smile after smile; just mile after mile – streets and sidewalks and lawns lined with faces not seen in weeks – you wave and wave and wave - you find yourself smiling with hardly strength to speak, just motion of mobile movement, settling in with disbelief; your front seat sadness colliding with this madness, even in temporary relief
— for Slice of Life, upon a joining colleagues for a Car Parade through town
Mist Ghost Rising from rivers; Fingers through water break apart this surface tension
— for Water Poems — a Fibonaci Poem (1,1,2,5,8)
Upon a Visit to the Quabbin
This quiet is where they used bulldozers and floods to bury four small towns – barn roofs and fire-stacks, other pieces of people's homes, still just below the surface, drowned but defiant against time - all for the greater good of somewhere else
Sometimes it feels as if we are forever living in metaphor
Small branches and sticks trick streams, currents as buoy, while we stop to watch
We tumble too much; And what's the rush? Can't we just hover here for just a bit, and enjoy the scene: this frozen white sky winter storm daydream -
It ain't much to ask for, is it? To pause in this open space between cloud and ground, for this is where I found equilibrium, if only for a second before falling
before gravity reached its fingers to pull me back to reality, I'm falling again, forever falling
Spring sledding seems wrong, don’t it? Won’t it wait until next winter? Fingers frozen in gloves, the sled, ahead, rushes the hill with riders; beside her, the boy shouts out the call, all of childhood forgetfulness: Yahooo!
Water speaks of love, these currents as calm, for here only in this single moment do we forget the hard ice of mountains, melting off in distance, and the vast ocean of unpredictable riptides the river flows into, these bookends of the forever cycle, unseen
— for Water Poems Project