B&W: Trees
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Tag Archives: poetry
Shape Shifter
artful shape shifter viewed from every angle redefined each time
Weekly Photo Challenge: From Every Angle
Haiku Twelve ~ Flawed
some say love is blind true love perceives many flaws and loves nonetheless
B&W: Flowers
blossoming flowers stripped of color and fragrance still express beauty
Wishes
coins tossed in fountains you can make your wish come true wish for wet pennies
Daily Prompt: Coins in the Fountain
In a Heartbeat
I heard your heartbeat today.
A fetal metronome
nestled in your mother’s womb.
Strong, fast, like a powerful locomotive
chugging away.
And all the more impressive
as it’s likely the size of
a grape seed.
How does your little heart know how to beat?
How was it set in motion?
Who wound the spring or
flipped the switch or
turned the key in the ignition?
Did it take a moment to warm up?
Or was the beat just there
like the first pounding notes of a John Phillip Sousa march,
striking up to dash the silence
in the blink of an eye.
Or – one might say – in a heartbeat.
Perhaps your precious heart
has been beating all along
somewhere in the Universe
waiting its turn to turn up the volume,
to resume its rhythm,
to pick up where it left off
in some prior lifetime.
Whatever miracle set your heart in motion
and brought it forth at this time and in this place,
I am honored to play a part in the symphony
for which it beats a perfect percussion.
It astounds me sometimes
how quickly life proceeds.
From a grape-sized fetus protected in the womb,
to a soft-skinned infant nestled in your parents’ arms,
it will happen in the blink of an eye,
or – one might say – in a heartbeat.
When you are born
I will not fall in love with you
at first sight.
I already fell in love with you
at first sound.
And it all happened
in a heartbeat.
Three Letters
Letter One
Dear birds who
frequent my front yard:
A voice whispered in my ear,
“Buy it and they will come.”
I was confused, and said, “Buy what?”
The voice said, “Cheep!”
So I went to the store and looked for something cheap.
I found a colorful glass birdbath
on a wrought iron base.
It was on sale.
I bought it.
I set it up in the front yard,
filled it with water,
added three big rocks (for ambiance),
… and waited…
No one came.
Okay… one bird came.
An avian bath critic, perhaps,
who apparently voted
two wings down.
Perhaps I should have splurged
on the Jacuzzi model, or maybe
the optional water slide.
But I did not.
After all, the voice did say cheap.
Henceforth, little birds,
If you aren’t going to utilize
the colorful glass birdbath
on the wrought iron base,
please stay downwind from me.
There are few things worse
than an unbathed bird.
And please,
stop whispering in my ear.
Sincerely,
Birdbath Owner
= 0 = 0 = 0 =
Letter Two
Dear dog who sits at the bathroom door
every time I pee:
You’ve taught me a lot
since you came to live with me.
Like not to leave socks lying around.
Or pens. Or slippers.
Or granola in a bowl of milk.
I’ve tried to teach you things, too.
Like barking to alert me
of your need to go outside.
Like NOT barking to alert me
every time the neighbors walk by.
And that it’s bad form to drink from the toilet
or to try to hump the cat.
I’ve seen you staring out the window
at the colorful glass birdbath
on the wrought iron base.
Could that have something to do
with its unpopularity?
Please don’t chase the birds.
I am fairly certain they do not want
to play with you.
Cordially,
Alpha Pack Leader
= 0 = 0 = 0 =
Letter Three
Dear Cat who
shares my domicile:
There’s a new water dish
in the front yard for you.
It’s made of colorful glass
on a wrought iron base.
We can remove the three big rocks
if you don’t like the ambiance.
I’m really sorry about the dog thing.
What can I say… he likes you.
Faithfully,
Filler of the Water Dish
= 0 = 0 = 0 =
Haiku Eleven ~ Ruffled
mere words on the wind don’t let “bad hair day” comments ruffle your feathers
Haiku Ten ~ Drought
stream of consciousness runs low in season of drought parched mind prays for rain
In Search of Wild Horses
I wrote this poem a couple of summers ago, about a weekend trip to the Ochoco forest in central Oregon. A beautiful, unforgettable experience with wonderful people and stunning scenery.
On Friday we set out in search of wild horses.
leaving the city with all its frenzy,
eager to begin our wilderness adventure.
We crossed sparkling rivers and overgrown creeks,
and saw wild rhododendrons
sprawling in the shade along the wooded roadside.
We found a stream bank that would make a great watering spot,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Saturday we set out in search of wild horses.
We watched ospreys diving for lake trout.
We hiked steep mountain trails,
pausing to admire the grandeur of snow-capped peaks
and the delicateness of wildflowers
swaying in the gentle breezes.
We saw hoof prints in the soft forest floor,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Sunday we set out in search of wild horses.
We enjoyed the scent of pine trees and lilacs,
watched lizards scurrying down rough-barked junipers,
and climbed hills to discover what lies beyond.
We marveled at piles of sun-hardened manure
scattered amongst the trees by our elusive prey.
We saw grass trails bent down where they may have passed by,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Monday we set out for home.
En route we passed the Painted Hills that
undulate in shades of rose and verdigris and taupe and ochre.
We saw weathered barns sagging wearily in the fields,
antelope grazing in a verdant pasture,
and watched a man feed ice cream to his dogs.
We basked in our weekend revitalization.
And, by the way, we saw wild horses.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 