thistle-puffWishes sat by the roadside
dejected and forlorn
they have long been waiting
for the hand to claim their own
but nobody dared come near
for wishes exact a price
many opt to hide
behind contentment's guise. 

One wish says she is Love
She looks rather old 
Her hope springs eternal
she'll find the one - free and bold
to surrender his life and will
for her to treasure and hold.

By the pond lies Wisdom
contemplating the world
In him rests counsel
forgotten and untold.
When will that one come
he -  who knows he's a fool
if he allows himself 
to be his own ego's tool?

Conspicuously absent 
are, of course, Fame and Fortune
They hardly ever rest
obliging some ambition
Often they are called
as a matter of need
to appease some desire
often masking some greed
What the dreamer doesn't know
they demand the steepest price
a truth good old King Midas
had  belatedly realized.
Ah! What  wishes disappear
where Fame and Fortune rule
blinding one to all other dreams
which can make one whole? 

for: dVerse Poets’ Poetics: Wishful Thinking. Mish wants us to write about (our) wishes. 🙂



 August comes with a warning –
You see it in the leaves turning
in the middle of summer
Fall’s shadow appears;
it is in the flowers dying
in the sad news I heard
of friends and loved ones leaving
Life is changing
and August comes with a warning
perhaps to prepare our souls
for joy or pain,
who knows?
One thing is certain –
all things end
and sorrow greets each severed attachment.
Should we stay the Hand of Providence
tell it to withold what it ought to give
should we pass on the chance
of happiness as to avoid shedding tears?
people come
people go
flowers bloom and wither
Summer does give way to Fall
Fall to Winter
The heart finds joy even
in the bleakest moments
While we settle in
August comes again
and it is not the same.


This was began in the middle of August when I noticed an leaf turning.  My first reminder of the coming Autumn.  Since then, I have heard some news of friends being terminally ill, of our parish priest being re-assigned, etc.  I am glad I was able to finish this piece before August ended.


pink wildflower

The belles are swinging in the meadow
their ruffled skirts are flying up high
The hornets are stealing their sweetness
and butterflies let out an envious sigh

Come, come watch the spectacle
it doesn’t last all summer long
Be there in the early days of August
when the sun is bright and strong

All too soon the show is over
the hornets find a new flower to tease
yet the meadow feels the absence
of the belles swinging in the breeze.

I found these wildflowers during one of my rare walks in the woods of Maine.  This is the first time I saw such flowers even though I have been to the place these plants grew more than a couple of times.  I wonder if I went to the meadow in the wrong time of the year that is why I never chanced upon the plants blooming.  Unlike daisies, thistles, golden rods, and Queen Anne’s Lace, among others, that apart from being quite showy, seem to grow everywhere,  these plants seemed to grow only in that place where I saw them blooming.  Because they are small and pale, they easily get lost among taller grasses and more colorful flowers.  For all the stated reasons, I consider these flowers rare.

Oh, please feel free to identify this beauty.  It never should go unnamed and unknown (at least by me).  🙂 Thank you.


WPC:  Rare



I met him with a luggageful of warnings. “He could be a psycho!” was my friends’ almost unanimous fear when I told them that I would meet the man I met online who happened to be from the other side of the world. After a year of extensive e-mails and expensive phonecalls, we agreed to finally meet in person. I would fly for 21 hours while he would drive 12 hours  to get to our meeting place. To appease my friends (and the little scared voice within), I did check the information he gave me against those independently available online, memorized the emergency number (9-1-1!), and arranged to meet in my brother’s apartment in Delaware.

The hour of our meeting approached. It was on a snowy December night. I parked myself on the couch by the window overlooking the road. I jumped at the sight of passing headlights. A lot later than expected, a car parked in front of our door. The door was opened before the doorbell rang. Outside stood a handsome, clean-shaven youth, cold inside his grayish woolen sweater. “Where is your stuff?” I managed to squeak after I regained my breath.

We spent two weeks together during which time, I learned that he was definitely not a murderer but, to my tastebuds’ consternation, I also learned that he was quite adept at using leftover turkey (mostly as soggy turkey rice). Meanwhile, he learned that I could not cook to save myself and that I was shorter than he thought. He gave me a ring anyway.

Sheltered butterfly
warm inside binding cocoon
foreordained  to fly


 DVerse’s Haibun Monday:  A Little Romance.  Jump into the pub for some romantic takes.




The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. ~Basho

Pluck not the wayside flower;
It is the traveler’s dower.
~William Allingham

Where flowers bloom so does hope. ~ Lady Bird Johnson


The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air than in the hand. ~ Sir Francis Bacon

pink and yellowflowers

Flowers leave some of their fragrance in the hand that bestows them.    ~ Chinese Proverb



I rarely go walking. I find it burdensome to walk around town with children in tow. Half the time, I am dodging traffic and the other half, keeping rowdy children safe. There is no time to stop and enjoy the scenery, if there is any. I cannot walk at my own pace.

But we are presently in Maine visiting relatives. Where we are are woods and the quiet of a rural life. I have often lamented how I have not seen much of the area, much less of Maine, while we are visiting. Most of the time, I am stuck indoors caring for a young child while the rest of the family play and do errands in the yard or better yet in the nearest town. Sightseeing is a rarer than rare event because most of our vacation time is dedicated to house maintenance and other projects that my in-laws had set aside for my husband to do or help with.


But mornings have been different lately. My baby is old enough to be left in the care of my husband without him starving to death because Mama is not around to nurse him. On many other mornings, I have seen the sun filter through trees, ravens caw on the branches, wild turkey roam in the yard. I wanted a piece of the action. I wanted to chance to be outdoors, have some quiet time, before the rest of the family get busy.

“Take care of the baby, will you?” I asked my husband one morning while I gathered my camera. Then, I dashed off into the dewy grass towards the path to the woods. I came to a mossy patch of ground, looked down, and saw a couple of toadstools that had just peeked out of the ground along with slug-eaten mushrooms.  I heard a squawking in the distance and had a glimpse of a family of wild turkey  in the nearby graveyard.  I tried to chase them but they quickly disappeared behind the trees. I paused under the trees and admired the sun filtering through the pine needles.



Soon, I was following the long abandoned Old Town Farm Road, so named for the farm that the village had once set aside for its poorer residents. I walked mindful of the loose rocks on the ground, listening to the chirping of birds inside the forest, savoring the cool touch of breeze on my skin. A rustle in the woods startled me. I looked around and saw a tiny chipmunk peering at me at promptly skittering behind tree roots when I raised my camera for a picture.



Walking alone was a bit unnerving. I did not know what would meet me as I went along. Would there be a menacing bear, or a moose, or a murderer on the loose? Nobody would hear me if I screamed. I continued anyway hoping I would chance upon some wildlife, perhaps a deer, standing at the edge of the woods. After all, they have often visited my in-laws backyard and left a trail of destruction.


I followed the hilly road, mindful of the loose rocks covering the path. After a mile and a half or so of walking, I reached the end of the road atop a hill full of goldenrods, brown-eyed susans, and white daisies, among others, growing among the trees and wild bush. The sun was still low enough to cast shadows on the grass and on the ground. I wondered if I would go inside the meadow and thought of the deer ticks that could be on the grass.


wildflowers and bug

Alas, no deer crossed my path,   there was no scary bear either.   However, I noticed a bunny concealed in the shadow of the tall grass and did get a quick shot of it before it became aware of me and hopped away.  There were no butterflies but there were other winged insects feasting on the nectar of the wildflowers. There was the sky, the breeze, and the morning bathing me in silence and a sense of well-being.  There was myself.


Soon the hill was bathe in sunlight and my stomach said I was hungry. So I began the trek back home ready for the day.


WPC:  Morning