I will open the day like a present

waiting under the Tree on Christmas morn

and with eager heart behold each moment

I will open the day like a present

impressed with the giver’s thought and good intent

Though routine would soon have its magic shorn

I will open the day like a present

waiting under the Tree on Christmas morn.


My day would have gone on in its ordinary course except that, some moments ago, we heard the squeal of car breaks working frantically and failing.  At the end of a long squeal, we heard a crash.   When we looked out into the road, we saw the back end of a car parked two houses away from us crumpled with its bumper guards on the ground.  A few feet away, on the lawn of the house on the opposite side of the road, the offending car sat, its back totaled, and its front pushing the street  sign at an angle.  Right now, four police cars and a fire truck block the road.  At least,  no one seemed to have been hurt.


IF ONLY (WPC: Solitude)

“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.” ~ C.S. Lewis


Somewhere in the day, between duties and daydreams
Solitude awaits to dispense her blessings –
a book of introduction to people I would never have known,
words in a jumble wishing to become a poem
There could even be music to highlight the mood
the sweetness of cake and warmth of coffee, dark and bold.

Of course, I will help myself to all of those
if only I could find this Solitude’s repose.



WPC:  Solitude

THE LAST LEAF (A Quadrille)

I’m the last leaf in the tree
why was I chosen to be alone
where’s the joy
in mornings getting colder and darker
or in robin’s songs
getting fainter and fainter
That I’m a survivor
means nothing
when each breath
only delays the inevitable

You may call me weird but when I read about survivalists, I often ask “In the event of apocalypse, what’s the point of surviving? There is beauty in going with the majority of humanity. It’s a little selfish, but the latter spares one the pain of losing everybody and dealing with a world that is markedly different from the one that was destroyed.”

DVerse Poets’ Quadrille #21 – Breath


I want to hear Silence
winding its way in the crowd
picking up the noise 
and zipping them  in his bag.

I would like to hear him sing
in the treetops and on the ground
accompanied only by birds
carrying their rhythm 
to the clouds.

I would love Silence
to sit with  me on the bench
tell me stories I'll never hear 
while the children screamed
and the world bickered.

It's a lovely day when Silence visits 
and wraps me in his embrace
that bathes me in tranquil currents
quickening my heartbeat
to the softness of a flower's breath
or the glorious voice of God
indwelling in my soul.

DVERSE's POETS PUB Open Link Night 


While walking in the park two weekends ago, we found this old shoe hanging on a broken branch of a pine tree. It must have been tough finishing the trail with only one shoe on.
Someone lost a shoe while hiking in the woods
I do not know how he continued, walking over
gnarled roots and pebbles.  Did he step on a worm
or on a slug; or a deer or a bug?
What scared him so to leave his shoe behind?
A troll or a bear?  A chipmunk or a hare? 
Did the park alarm ring while he was having fun
and he had to scoot  lest his car became a pumpkin
what did he expect to find, 
a fairy looking for a husband
or she, a centaur looking for his maiden?
So far nobody claimed the sad laced-up  shoe
to find his or her love lasting and true. 




Do we even see the same person?
You see someone beautiful
I see one beyond her prime
(who kind of looks like a crone).
You get mad
that I disagree
How can you belie those many eyes
who have judged her face
her person
to be less than perfect?
She carried the sting of many years
wore the thorns like a cloak
she was what other saw
But you dare strip her
of the mold she was cast in
that I may see her
the way your love does
And I have never been as beautiful.


Daily Post:  Eyes