SECRET

Your name was carved in my heart Long before I fell in love Its sound rolled as velvet in my tongue Its form gave art to my hand. And yet, and yet no one knew About this spell that turns my day From gloom to magic in a breath This secret I buried, deep within,

MUSINGS

The days become a giant clock and I, its moving hand, marking the hour remembering the time, the same as what is gone, the same as what is to come. Days, hours minutes fold into each other indistinguishable. Perhaps, it is all a trick of the mind – the walls preserve life, the walls take

TO A HYDRANGEA PAST ITS PRIME

You have lost the vibrance of your huesYour blushing pink, sweet lavender, or sky blueHave long faded into sage green leavingFaint traces of what you once wereHinting of what will be. Veins on your petals writeAll the summer days and all the stormy daysThat deepened your roots. You have changedYou are changingYet in this world

GOLD

I speak of wealth –of golden hearts and golden timeWherever I am is grandeur –golden sunrise, golden grainsgoldenrods, golden shrines I am the magic of August nightswhen fireflies flit aboutIn the gloom of winter nightsI bring hope twinkling from the heights Truly, I am beautyand treasure much desireda desire that need  be reinedas  old King

BEGINNING

The counters are still emptyThe cold floor is still cleanThe sky is still grey – The furnace wakessputtering and clanging as steam builds up. I set the coffee to percolate flour the counterfor the brioche dough prepared last night to be kneaded and braidedand tucked in the pansfor one final rise. Light spreads on the

DOODLES

The dips and arcs of a bumblebee’s flight The curve of a blade of grass laden with dewdrops The twirl of tendrils adorning pea and watermelon vines My pen traces Its gel ink glides Smoothly tracing the lines and curls Now a flower Or a butterfly Morphing into words Building a poem Until the once

SAILBOAT

My little sailboat floundersIn a sea of whispersHas it forgotten its courseAmidst so many voicesSaying go north, or south, or east, or west?My little sailboat spinsIn the currents. Is there hope for my sailboatEnsorcelled as it isBy sweet-voiced sirensHarboring evil schemes? Alas! Not the pull of the moonNor the push of the windsCould set my

BUTTERFLY

A caterpillar in its cocoon, so are we in our bodies biding the moment to be a butterfly, free among the flowers silent majesty tender voice of high summer flying into fall an empty cocoon you flew like a butterfly never to return Written for DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Meeting the Bar: Haiku Sequence Prompt Especially

SUMMER

Summers are made of these – butterflies frolicking in the sun zucchini growing on the ground barefoot children playing in the yard swooping on brambles like hungry birds grabbing berries with eager hands popsicles dripping on sweaty chin children dancing under the summer rain Written for DVERSE POETS’ Quadrille prompt: Bramble

TREASURES

My treasures are a visual prayer my eyes delight to see: a garden full of flowers a pocketful of butterflies, flying free; broken seashells smelling of the shore flowered teapots from days of yore cards and notes bearing good wishes faded photos of familiar faces Then, there’s the warmth of sunshine and the freshness of