Sunday, June 22, 2014

Morning's golden gleam glitters the uppermost leaves/ The soapy-sweet scent of a laundry line somewhere melds with the newly trimmed lawn/An airplane's drone fades away into robin song.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

The man with sable paintbrush hair and a gentle protruding belly stands tall, fumbles in his pockets for a question to ask, softly.
around squinted eyes lines spring up behind thick lenses and she laughs.

among damp dandelions
with wings ink black,
the turkey
stretches up
dips down
nibbles the grass
glances back

Friday, May 2, 2014

quiet winter—
the upward slant
of sunlit phone lines

*

breezy street—
her dark ponytail
flapping

*

feather flurry—
onto the grackles' path
a rabbit hops

Thursday, October 17, 2013

The round-bellied bird with dark apricot wings takes baby steps along the patio chair's iron roses towards the window. What are you? he wonders.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

A squirrel speedily rings around the red maple. Oh, no, there's two squirrels running and bopping around and around the tree trunk with skinny legs and feathery white dandelion-like tails. After the chase, one squirrel stands tall and nibbles on a bit of food held between her paws.
The black cat with milky-white paws pounces in weedy-high grass and sneaks back under the low fence.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

she sings
like windswept leaves
he like firewood
the artful ease

Monday, October 7, 2013

With lemon-scented fingers,
I tuck away
the warmed up
cookie plate
in the cupboard,
and click it closed
with the gentleness
of kissing my love goodnight,
thinking of my dear Dan
and may he taste again
the tea cookies
and feel the chiming
music note he is

Sunday, October 6, 2013

clusters
of flaxseed-
dotted granola.
cream droplets
of soy milk
within blueberry
crevices,
tiny milk pools,
the swish and chink
of the spoon.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

small stone sunday

a cardinal and sparrow
face to face,
beak to beak.

hello, hello
chirps the sparrow
to the cardinal,

and into trickling
rain the cardinal's
red wings
wave goodbye.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

gusts of wind
want to topple
the trees
on the window
little raindrops
squiggle

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

chocolate brown
and pea green
flecks of color
dapple the glinting
sweater buttons,
pockets
like pottery bowls
shaped by
inexperienced hands

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The faucet loosely shut. Glistening droplets pelt & patter.

Monday, January 28, 2013

I am intensely focusing on arranging candles, figurines, & incense along the window ledge when skinny phoebes dash through the air, and I stop, candle in hand, to witness the winter dance.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The trembling hands of the organist hover above the keys— "Wrong song!"

Saturday, January 26, 2013

On the roadside, a lopsided pine drooping into yellow grass.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Angel Statue at the Sanctuary

Her hair aflame
her wings wind-scented
she holds the pearls lightly
and rises up in me
a long-buried sensuality

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Warmth for a Cold Day

I bop my feet and press my mouth with my fingertip as my heart leaps with Vivaldi. This elation is like the heady aroma of petunias, sultry summer air without an open window.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

the plushy eraser crumbles fine carnelian yellow powdery smell

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Morning Prose

Snow flurries in blustery eastern wind. A black bird is carried, too, in and out of sight. An upstairs neighbor drops something small. The papery taste of unsweetened oat cereal still on my tongue.

Monday, January 21, 2013

The little winter wren gulps and her golden throat swells,
sepia wings flutter into the cold, pine-scented wind.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

the celebration ringers  
dang-a-long lang ding
rapidly pattering heart
husshhhing wind

Saturday, January 19, 2013

tattered, scalloped leaf
circular-shaped spaces
like a butterfly wing

Friday, January 18, 2013

pondering—
softly touching fingertips
remind the mouth
to speak gently

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Silent guitar—
tepid steel strings
warm with sun not fingertips
the glossy pickguard reflects nothing

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

once coarse wheat cubes soften in soy milk,
snow makes pretty the sloping telephone lines,
a night's sleep wipes clean yesterday's sorrow.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Bursting within Bach's solo cello suite, I hear Canada geese.

Monday, January 14, 2013

On the rainy doorstep, a shiny black slithery creature, its long, long legs reaching out star-like.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

The toddler bops
and bounces and dances
to the choir's gospel hymn. 

His mother holds him
and only his feet are tapping
and kicking and dancing.

Long after the choir
and organ are silent,
he is still bopping and bouncing
and dancing.
The scent of marijuana drifts from the hallway beneath our door.  Open windows let the smell out into the rain.  Here marijuana mingles with the scent of rain, just-watered primrose soil, and a sweet sage candle.  (I want to say the primrose and candle are mine; the drugs belong to the neighbors.)

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Black speckled snow mounds line the path.  Further out in the field where no one walks, glorious bundles of clean snow and streaks of pure ice.  After many mornings of sun, the sky is milk without any honey.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Steam from the tea cup lifts skyward.
My jasmine scented fingertips
resurface a lost childhood memory
I still cannot find.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

On the other side of the glass, baby winter wrens flutter wildly. Inside, the corn husk dolls, golden by the years, teach without words the gift of stillness.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

the very last banana
still sweet-scented
but with a big brown hole
in its brown freckled skin
is tossed into the trash...

on the white writing desk,
a lively splash of purple
yet another baby primrose bud opens
and soaks up little sunlight
in the cold

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

a little black squirrel hops down calligraphic boughs and branches, pausing before each descent.   

Monday, January 7, 2013

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Door Meditation

Bone white sky:  the outside scene is a daguerreotype.  In the middle of the open doorway, a three wick candle glows, and I tend to what is wild and tame within.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

The musty old library book's cover has mud brown lines where scotch tape glue remains and here's a creased cream page a former reader's fingers made.