This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
reflections of water and time
time like water
in a measuring cup
there now, but later
drunk all up
pour it out
once measured and seen
come to question
has it ever been?
the spilling of time
a real waste indeed
coming too quickly
to an hour of need
allow careful measure
to not be a toll
let the water of time
rather quench your own soul
Habit Home
When sameness turns to sadness
and the night is rather dark
What spirit do you wish to come
and tend your crying heart
May you find some comfort
in the folds of your routine
Relax inside the thing you know
in what has often been
An Easter Basket for You
Who is the Easter Bunny?
Why does he carry eggs?
This season filled with sugar
not with spices like nutmeg.
Easter is a time
signaling deep hope.
No matter your beliefs
this is not only a trope.
Especially this year —
life has changed so much.
I wish this special day
to bring at least a little touch
of hope and new direction
right into your heart.
You find renewed compassion,
a clear path or a fresh start.
Embrace the Easter Bunny
and the message that he brings.
Bless the whole wide world —
the bells of grace and goodness ring.
Go Grab Your Hat!
Time for a Friday!
Go grab your hat!
Let’s go have a good ol’ time!
End the week with splat!
Throw out the rule book!
Dance like you were five!
Sing and play the day away!
It’s great to be alive!
❤️ A little note to you — extraordinarily special and dear reader — thank you for being here. These words come alive through your reading. ❤️
glistening with hope
yesterday i listened
to beautiful words
luminous and true
today i write
these small words
words that go clunk
his needle wove silk
mine straw
his beat a perfect bell
mine a tin can
a wizard alight with purpose
an apprentice sweeping the floor
does hearing beauty help us make it?
does the sound penetrate into some interior space
locked behind secret doors
opened with keys earned through practice?
or is that beauty a gift
a random allotment
bestowed ?
today i hold no answer
i sweep my floor
ring my tin can
weave my straw
hear the rhythm
of that purposeful silken thread
and glisten with hope
this little word
A word controlled my mind today
and I couldn’t make it leave.
It insisted that I listen,
it gave me no reprieve.
It stood there oh so boldly
begging me to see
that what it held inside itself
was put there just by me.
Without all of my stories
it was nothing really much.
What it needed me to do
was pack it with more stuff.
So I wrote a tiny poem
about this little word,
watched it as it flew away
because I called the word a bird.
cinquain: one form
Cinquain
Count syllables
First two then four, six, eight
Used first by Adelaide Crapsey
Knowledge
Ode to Saturday
A day to do errands
Chores and the like
To get the items marked right off
Warm? Perhaps hike or ride bike!
This is a day that seems
To offer what you seek
No rules or shoulds to weigh it down
Yes, it is of Saturday I speak.
work-a-day life
working
the day begins
the pattern stays the same
coffee, writing, to the machine
begin
mind mosquitos
complaints are like mosquitos
flying around your head
buzzing biting and sucking
until you slap them dead
grumbling about everything
pointing the finger out there
when the critters get too thick
a madman stands and swats the air
more wise to put on some bug spray
go inside, find a net or a tent
see the bright side, smile, say thank you
or be gnawed by your own lament
sometimes life tips over
Sometimes life tips over
Water spills out from its place
Beauty once, now strewn about
A tear rolls down your face
Time must pass
The wet will dry
Some small goodness
Opens your eyes
Upright the vase
Arrange the blooms
Joy again
Floods your empty room
Larry Lonondinger
Larry Lonondinger
as lazy as a man can be
let’s walk through a week with him
and we will surely see
On Monday
he does no work at all
claiming it is healthier
to start things with a crawl
On Tuesday he pretends to work
but nothing moves along
that’s because he thinks
the week is very long
Larry, he is quite skilled and deft
at counting days that are still left
On Wednesday you would think
his excuses would run out
but not with Larry, not at all
with him they sprout and sprout
oh today I am quite tired
or, it is very cold
or, I ate too much for breakfast
or, this pen is far too old
On Thursday there’s a turn
a switch, a counterpart
now it isn’t too soon to begin
it is now too late to start!
On Friday, well, what’s the point?
the week is nearly done
why start now, it’s best to wait
On Monday we start our new run
it isn’t only weekdays
that we see old Larry laze
the weekends soon become
a slothful, idle haze
On Saturday
the errands — they will have to wait
for now Larry needs to rest
the fatigue of the work week — so great!
On Sunday — well, that’s a rest day
we can’t expect that he would work!
to even ask the question!
are you some kind of jerk!?
and then right back to Monday
the week begins again
there is Larry Lonondinger
the most lazy of all men!!
Shelter
A wildness lives in the world.
No fort provides
perennial protection.
We all feel the wild sometimes.
When the winds of loss and grief howl
do the walls creak and moan and hold
against the rush?
When the rain of disappointment floods down
and the river seeks to pull you under
what fortress do you run to?
All castles have cracks.
When the cold air of loneliness
creeps in and whips around your ankles
do you have a blanket
in your own closet
to throw over your shoulders
as you shudder?
Are you willing to leave your refuge
when the sun of possibility shines or
do you cower and wait for the rain?
We all feel the wild sometimes.
What shelter do you have?