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

WILDFLOWER

Not the queenly rose that rules a garden not the pristine lily that adorns saintly hands not the cheerful sunflower, nor fragrant jasmine but a wildflower, unheralded, unseen, I am. Obscurity is the meadow where I grow The wealth of the earth is my bed I dream beneath the stars’ watchful glow and wake to

ISOLATION

Days fold into each other – amorphous monotony beats within walls. I am the hands of a tuneless clock constantly moving in circles. The outside world is as far as an arm stretched out of the window, so within reach, so out of reach isolation crescendoes – the skies are overcast and grey spring flowers

BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT

BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT Walk with me beneath the moonlight – We’ll enjoy some moments on our own while the children’s dreams are taking flight – Walk with me beneath the moonlight. We’ll remember when we were alone dreaming of love. In the dark of night walk with me. Beneath the moonlight, we’ll enjoy some moments