Dinner is done, gifts opened.
Mom and Dad snooze while waiting
for family calls.
I look around the camp.
Four sturdy walls hold secrets
of five generations.
Winter's lace has formed on
the icy window.
Outside a wild cucumber vine
sways gently - a remnant
from a warmer time.
Bare trees reach to the sky,
the sun leans toward the West.
The only sound is birdsong floating
from a gifted music box.
Fifty six years of Christmas memories
reel through my mind.
Secrets kept, secrets spilled.
Always a surprise to be revealed -
keeping childlike anticipation alive.
The soft pink winter sky rests
on darkened tree tops.
All is still...
This is Christmas
This is home
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Perfect Day
Summer is fleeing on time's heels.
Play has known little space in my heart.
An invitation comes from a favored
friend on this warm day.
To the lake we go, nine miles in.
We sit upon boulders at water's edge.
The sun beats down and the wind tries to
blow the heat away to no avail.
Two old friends with many miles upon
their souls and childhood memories calling,
respond to lure of the gently slapping waves.
Floating on a foam raft allows a
captivating skyward view. Heaven.
Wondrous. Chilly water licks and bobs
us like toys in a tub.
The sky is ocean blue and thin clouds are
forming continents before my eyes.
Peace comes like a foreign visitor.
I hold and welcome it's embrace.
A memory is made. Childhood bliss recaptured
by a string with an awareness evolving
with age. I cherish this day.
Play has known little space in my heart.
An invitation comes from a favored
friend on this warm day.
To the lake we go, nine miles in.
We sit upon boulders at water's edge.
The sun beats down and the wind tries to
blow the heat away to no avail.
Two old friends with many miles upon
their souls and childhood memories calling,
respond to lure of the gently slapping waves.
Floating on a foam raft allows a
captivating skyward view. Heaven.
Wondrous. Chilly water licks and bobs
us like toys in a tub.
The sky is ocean blue and thin clouds are
forming continents before my eyes.
Peace comes like a foreign visitor.
I hold and welcome it's embrace.
A memory is made. Childhood bliss recaptured
by a string with an awareness evolving
with age. I cherish this day.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Essence
While walking after a raucous thunder shower,
I saw a lone aspen leaf laying against black tar.
Upon it was a tiny lake of fallen rain.
Further on, a canopy of giant red and green maple
leaves reached to me from above - as water
droplets hung on point.
Multi-hued clouds formed their ranks leaving
the air divinely cleansed.
I'm humbly grateful.
I saw a lone aspen leaf laying against black tar.
Upon it was a tiny lake of fallen rain.
Further on, a canopy of giant red and green maple
leaves reached to me from above - as water
droplets hung on point.
Multi-hued clouds formed their ranks leaving
the air divinely cleansed.
I'm humbly grateful.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
God Speak
I had a moment this evening
while kneeling and talking to God.
The gentle wind blew notes from distant
chimes through my open window.
The breeze caressed my face and arms.
Golden sunlight filtered through sheer
curtains, teasing my closed eyelids.
I had a moment.
while kneeling and talking to God.
The gentle wind blew notes from distant
chimes through my open window.
The breeze caressed my face and arms.
Golden sunlight filtered through sheer
curtains, teasing my closed eyelids.
I had a moment.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Magic Hour
While driving to my parents' this evening,
nature cast a spell upon me.
Sunlit lushness bore into my senses.
Dandelions carpeted grass in technicolor.
Forget-me-nots dotted forest's edge
like dancing fairy lights.
Thick blades of grass and tiny pink buds
emerged with mightiness.
Colors shouted for attention
while birds sang in harmonious competition.
Renewed life and intensity of beauty
have left me in awe.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
All is Calm - All is Bright
It's almost midnight.
Stars light the sky with brilliance.
Gifts opened, bellies full, warm beds call softly.
Traditions march on.
How fortunate we are.
I give thanks for my blessings.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Been Gone Too Long
Life's been fast forward
San Jose to Washington
Shakespeare in Ashland
My heart's been crying
Over spills and broken bones
A life in twilight
Without permission
Hurt and jubilation rule
Making little sense
I am powerless
Change will have it's way with all
A vessel am I
All the whilst someone
Patiently waits for my heart
Synchronize or not
What will be will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera sera
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Wind Song
by Me
Outside my window bare
limbed trees orchestrate
a lively composition.
Violin bows lift in enthusiastic
rendition while cymbals crash
with meaning.
Lower in the orchestral pit
tiny fingers play gingerly
on piano keys.
The aged conductor twists,
lifts and points his baton
to perfect the wind's symphony.
Outside my window bare
limbed trees orchestrate
a lively composition.
Violin bows lift in enthusiastic
rendition while cymbals crash
with meaning.
Lower in the orchestral pit
tiny fingers play gingerly
on piano keys.
The aged conductor twists,
lifts and points his baton
to perfect the wind's symphony.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Wintry Wind
by Me
The wind she howls,
her icy breath bites and
nips landscape's heels.
Trees huddle, their shaking
branches pointing long fingers
into the night.
Snow blows and lifts into
twirling images - ladies
dancing with their veils.
This night she knows no whispers.
This night she howls...
The wind she howls,
her icy breath bites and
nips landscape's heels.
Trees huddle, their shaking
branches pointing long fingers
into the night.
Snow blows and lifts into
twirling images - ladies
dancing with their veils.
This night she knows no whispers.
This night she howls...
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, December 24, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Wakeful Moment
by Me
Naked branches dance
in shadowed splendor
through stationary
slatted blinds
upon kitchen wall.
Darkness making light
my sleepy thirsty soul.
Naked branches dance
in shadowed splendor
through stationary
slatted blinds
upon kitchen wall.
Darkness making light
my sleepy thirsty soul.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Beauty Unexpected
by Me
While walking at dusk
I looked down at the wet
shiny pavement and noticed
golden leaves scattered.
A street light shone through
tree limbed foliage
super imposing a shadowed
leaf pattern under foot.
Too beautiful for words.
While walking at dusk
I looked down at the wet
shiny pavement and noticed
golden leaves scattered.
A street light shone through
tree limbed foliage
super imposing a shadowed
leaf pattern under foot.
Too beautiful for words.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
On Friendship
Each friend represents
a world within us,
a world possibly not
born until they arrive,
and it's only by this meeting
that a new world is made.
Anais Nin
a world within us,
a world possibly not
born until they arrive,
and it's only by this meeting
that a new world is made.
Anais Nin
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Que Sera-Sera
by Me
It's ironic how memories have a way of attending
the present mind's eye. I must have heard my
mother sing that song a hundred times as a child.
My mother, I now believe, for reasons of keeping
her sanity, used to pile us kids in the car and
drive to places unknown. Often, a neighborhood
kid would hop in too. There was a mountain that
sat on the periphery of our little town. Actually
the mountain was little too, more of a large hill.
It was called Mars Hill Mountain. Maybe the
name changed to Bigrock after well travelled skiers
cracked jokes about our beloved hill of till.
Anyway, something about circling the mountain
inspired Mum into a nonstop sing-song.
Pioneer Girls had nothing on my mother.
She sang a variety of melodies that plucked
at our heart strings, sometimes not so
gently. She came into her element when we'd
plead, "Sing Old Shep, please sing Old Shep!"
By the time she had finished singing about
Old Shep's departure to the place
"where the good doggies go...", most of us
were in tears and feeling a rather noble
touch of compassion for the futility of dogs'
plight. Our nobleness was further nurtured
by her as she pointed out nature's sights
and smells. She'd say, "Smell the sweet hay"
or, "Feel how soft these pussy willows are."
We were alway smelling or feeling something.
"Isn't the sky beautiful?", she'd ask. It
looked like a sky to me. She'd mention the
clouds and the different shades of blue.
Didn't we see how the sky looked like the ocean
and the clouds like a rippling shore-line?
I see it now. Wasn't Mum brilliant?
She knew God personally, you know.
It's ironic how memories have a way of attending
the present mind's eye. I must have heard my
mother sing that song a hundred times as a child.
My mother, I now believe, for reasons of keeping
her sanity, used to pile us kids in the car and
drive to places unknown. Often, a neighborhood
kid would hop in too. There was a mountain that
sat on the periphery of our little town. Actually
the mountain was little too, more of a large hill.
It was called Mars Hill Mountain. Maybe the
name changed to Bigrock after well travelled skiers
cracked jokes about our beloved hill of till.
Anyway, something about circling the mountain
inspired Mum into a nonstop sing-song.
Pioneer Girls had nothing on my mother.
She sang a variety of melodies that plucked
at our heart strings, sometimes not so
gently. She came into her element when we'd
plead, "Sing Old Shep, please sing Old Shep!"
By the time she had finished singing about
Old Shep's departure to the place
"where the good doggies go...", most of us
were in tears and feeling a rather noble
touch of compassion for the futility of dogs'
plight. Our nobleness was further nurtured
by her as she pointed out nature's sights
and smells. She'd say, "Smell the sweet hay"
or, "Feel how soft these pussy willows are."
We were alway smelling or feeling something.
"Isn't the sky beautiful?", she'd ask. It
looked like a sky to me. She'd mention the
clouds and the different shades of blue.
Didn't we see how the sky looked like the ocean
and the clouds like a rippling shore-line?
I see it now. Wasn't Mum brilliant?
She knew God personally, you know.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sign Language (Happy Birthday, Mom)
by Me
You used to hold my hands.
You said mine were so soft,
that they hadn't done the work
your hands had.
I looked at your hands.
They were rough and red.
The nails irregular.
Your hands told their own story.
This is what I remember about your hands.
I remember their touch.
They caressed, soothed and nurtured.
They held me when I was sick.
Your nails traced circles on my back.
Your hands did a multitude of things,
a multitude of loving things.
My hands will never be rough
or my nails uneven like yours.
My hands tell their own story.
I hold my daughter's hands
and tell her how soft they are.
Will she remember my hands?
Written 20 years ago for Mother's Day
I love you Mom
You used to hold my hands.
You said mine were so soft,
that they hadn't done the work
your hands had.
I looked at your hands.
They were rough and red.
The nails irregular.
Your hands told their own story.
This is what I remember about your hands.
I remember their touch.
They caressed, soothed and nurtured.
They held me when I was sick.
Your nails traced circles on my back.
Your hands did a multitude of things,
a multitude of loving things.
My hands will never be rough
or my nails uneven like yours.
My hands tell their own story.
I hold my daughter's hands
and tell her how soft they are.
Will she remember my hands?
Written 20 years ago for Mother's Day
I love you Mom
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Lime Lit
by Me
Oh, verdant friend,
you come gifting winter's end!
Sprightly, lightly, leaves are peeping,
exposing dark spirits of winter's keeping.
Colors burst, buds soon bloom,
petals sweep away the gloom.
Nymphs, gnomes and fairies wild
spring to life for season's ride.
Delighting the senses with every hue,
you bring us hope and faith anew.
A friend we see but once a year
a treasured friend we hold so dear.
Oh, verdant friend,
you come gifting winter's end!
Sprightly, lightly, leaves are peeping,
exposing dark spirits of winter's keeping.
Colors burst, buds soon bloom,
petals sweep away the gloom.
Nymphs, gnomes and fairies wild
spring to life for season's ride.
Delighting the senses with every hue,
you bring us hope and faith anew.
A friend we see but once a year
a treasured friend we hold so dear.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
My World
by Me
Sweet childhood long gone
left in its wake lingering memories.
Crisp sunlit mornings greeting
an innocent of five.
Sun filtered through the kitchen window.
A spotlight shining on the red and white
checked table cloth. A blue table with
sparse red trim.
Sweet melon and cheerios enticed.
All was orchestrated by Grammy Brown.
She wore glasses and a printed apron.
Then to the world of play.
Behind the barn the blades of grass
glistened with dew.
A magical frolicking time.
Later the creation of mud-pies.
The sweet smell of dried earth
on the skin always amazed.
It made the skin look old and parched.
A huge lilac bush provided refuge
for the hidden observer.
The ground was cool,
the ants were marching.
An innocent of five.
Alone in body yet fulfilled in spirit.
Sweet childhood long gone
left in its wake lingering memories.
Crisp sunlit mornings greeting
an innocent of five.
Sun filtered through the kitchen window.
A spotlight shining on the red and white
checked table cloth. A blue table with
sparse red trim.
Sweet melon and cheerios enticed.
All was orchestrated by Grammy Brown.
She wore glasses and a printed apron.
Then to the world of play.
Behind the barn the blades of grass
glistened with dew.
A magical frolicking time.
Later the creation of mud-pies.
The sweet smell of dried earth
on the skin always amazed.
It made the skin look old and parched.
A huge lilac bush provided refuge
for the hidden observer.
The ground was cool,
the ants were marching.
An innocent of five.
Alone in body yet fulfilled in spirit.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Happiness
Happiness cannot be traveled to,
owned,earned,worn, or consumed.
Happiness is the spiritual experience
of living every minute with love,
grace, and gratitude. Author Unknown
owned,earned,worn, or consumed.
Happiness is the spiritual experience
of living every minute with love,
grace, and gratitude. Author Unknown
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Of The Mind
by Me
Cold morality is in me.
It's icy fingers caress me, taunt me.
Living a rigid code of ethics
trying to be good, proper.
Getting swallowed up by the
everyday regime - a self inflicted regime.
Ahh - I feel a warmth spreading
throughout my mind.
A whisper of heat permeates my soul.
Frigid limbs become limp with desire.
The harness of my being is loosened.
Steam emanates from the moisture
of my frigidness.
Your touch, your eyes.
Spontaneous combustion.
My cold morality is ablaze.
You melt me.
Cold morality is in me.
It's icy fingers caress me, taunt me.
Living a rigid code of ethics
trying to be good, proper.
Getting swallowed up by the
everyday regime - a self inflicted regime.
Ahh - I feel a warmth spreading
throughout my mind.
A whisper of heat permeates my soul.
Frigid limbs become limp with desire.
The harness of my being is loosened.
Steam emanates from the moisture
of my frigidness.
Your touch, your eyes.
Spontaneous combustion.
My cold morality is ablaze.
You melt me.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Juxtaposition
by Me
You dance attendance on a limb,
waiting, forming, unfolding.
A bud reaching for sunlight-
you and nature as one.
You're so supple, so lush,
veins running helter skelter
throughout your palm -
feeding, nuturing.
Growing, frolicking on your secure extension.
A sprightly existence;
experiencing the elements.
Time passes, seasons change,
it's time to return from whence you came.
Protruding veins -
character lines on your parched facade.
Letting go a bit at a time.
Melding into the earth,
relinquishing your hold on life-
to join the harmony of nature.
You dance attendance on a limb,
waiting, forming, unfolding.
A bud reaching for sunlight-
you and nature as one.
You're so supple, so lush,
veins running helter skelter
throughout your palm -
feeding, nuturing.
Growing, frolicking on your secure extension.
A sprightly existence;
experiencing the elements.
Time passes, seasons change,
it's time to return from whence you came.
Protruding veins -
character lines on your parched facade.
Letting go a bit at a time.
Melding into the earth,
relinquishing your hold on life-
to join the harmony of nature.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Masquerading
by Me
Your brilliance is an illusion.
You are but a reflector -
A mirror image.
Do you enjoy attending the monthly ball?
In your disguise
you outshine most.
You are the starburst in
a sparkling orchestra.
I will dance with you,
attend your ball.
You see I know your secret.
Without the sun
I wouldn't see you at all.
Your brilliance is an illusion.
You are but a reflector -
A mirror image.
Do you enjoy attending the monthly ball?
In your disguise
you outshine most.
You are the starburst in
a sparkling orchestra.
I will dance with you,
attend your ball.
You see I know your secret.
Without the sun
I wouldn't see you at all.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Mannequin
I wrote the following 20 years ago. Recently on talk radio, it was stated that there's a new standard of beauty being set by silicon, botoxed and "lifted" women. These smooth immobile faced women are ubiquitous in our culture. This created look has by repetition become a norm. Yikes!!!! Does that scare anyone else? Are we creating a super-race look? One more step for clonekind!
The adorments worn are many
It's easy - no muss, no fuss
wash and wear.
Shiny silk leaves - camouflage.
Brilliant gems with dead eyes.
Slick colors wrapped around pale flesh.
Green paper lending authenticity to it's taker.
Silver encapsulated enamel to get it straight.
Blood sucking leaches out of water.
Hearts so carefully wrapped in shrouds.
Prisoners of our own disguise.
The adorments worn are many
It's easy - no muss, no fuss
wash and wear.
Shiny silk leaves - camouflage.
Brilliant gems with dead eyes.
Slick colors wrapped around pale flesh.
Green paper lending authenticity to it's taker.
Silver encapsulated enamel to get it straight.
Blood sucking leaches out of water.
Hearts so carefully wrapped in shrouds.
Prisoners of our own disguise.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Nightcap
Upon the horizon to my delight
sits a parfait of raspberry
of which I might,
but let my eyes drink fully from
as it swirls and twirls
its liquid tongue.
Yet watch it now,
as West quenches his thirst,
licks his lips and expands his girth.
Fatigued from work with the mighty sun,
West draws the shade,
his task is done.
Pondering nocturnal dreams
brings thoughts of Ms.East
and her dawning schemes.
A salute to Ma Nature
as He fades from sight,
and thanks be to Heaven-
let's greet the night.
sits a parfait of raspberry
of which I might,
but let my eyes drink fully from
as it swirls and twirls
its liquid tongue.
Yet watch it now,
as West quenches his thirst,
licks his lips and expands his girth.
Fatigued from work with the mighty sun,
West draws the shade,
his task is done.
Pondering nocturnal dreams
brings thoughts of Ms.East
and her dawning schemes.
A salute to Ma Nature
as He fades from sight,
and thanks be to Heaven-
let's greet the night.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
About Me
Welcome friends! I hope this is the beginning of something beautiful. I'd like to share with you my thoughts and inspirations.
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