bard at the fair2
I admire people who can play music. This man stood in the heat of a September day to entertain the crowd at the faire. People passed him by without giving the least sign of appreciation for his work. Yet, whether we faire guests admitted it or not, his bagpipe contributed to the festive atmosphere at the faire.


If I could stand before the world
coax music out of reeds
not be bothered about the crowd
who cares not for the gift I give
I am brave

If I could handle the scorn
that the world inspires within
calm down the raging storm
let out from my wounds a healing song
I am at peace



This is a picture of the mini-daffodils that I bought a couple of weeks ago. They are wilted by now but they provided the flowers while our garden is yet waking to spring.

I will buy me some spring from the grocery store
3.99 for a small pot of bulbs
of tulips or daffodils in various colors.
Perhaps I will get pink or purple flowers
or yellow, my favorite hue
to brighten the dark kitchen corners.

They will sit on the window sill
be watchful sentries over the sink
to make me smile as I wash the dishes
and scrub away some stubborn grease.

And spring shall ever reign within
whatever weather April brings.


Cedar Waxwing
I took this picture two springs  ago in Maine when I had more time to spend in the orchard watching for birds.  I saw the leaves of the blooming appletrees rustle and saw a bird feasting on the blossoms.  This was  the first time I saw this kind of bird, a Cedar Waxwing. If I remember correctly, one of the first things I did when I went back to the house was to research about this bird.

There was a bird eating his dinner

while an eager woman took his picture

he ate really fast

lest his ordeal last

and   pecked  her hand for good measure.






Poems are free.
They thread in and out
of each waking and sleeping moment.
Some sense a poem
as the brush of a butterfly’s wings
or a baby’s smile
or the chill that runs up their toes
when they are dipped in the ocean’s waters.
Then they pause and
drink of the moment as one consumed
by thirst.
And there are some
who are deaf and blind
lost in every day’s grind.
Then there are those like me
who scribble random words
hoping to trap
a semblance of a poem.


Linking with DVerse's Open Link Night



Another daffodil, another spring.
The world turns and turns again and again.
What is new gets old; what was once old is new
going round in circles- is that all we do?

Day in and day out, we pursue a dream
and once it was achieved, we start again.
Can this world offer something that will last
wealth, beauty, joy, even pain – all turn to dust

Ah! How can a jaded heart not despair
when everything is fleeting. Could he dare
search for meaning in the passing moments
and thus give anchor to his existence?

But we’re the daffodils that grow in spring
blooming at the pleasure of Eden’s King.