great horned christmas caroling owl
crooning to a nearly full cold moon—
aromatic firewood smoke dancing
with chill desert air and winter stars—
people holidaying with indoor trees
oblivious to nature’s nighttime party
favorites
The fight
Winter is a lean, scrappy fighter. Spring blossoms from the sweat
Early morning goodbyes
Death is never a clean break — some stardust always remains.
Poetry of spring
Springtime is a poet —
the blue sky its blank page
so vibrant green in rhyme
a different metre for every clime
birds chirping to keep the time
wildflowers yellow, red, purple divine
words dancing on tall blades of grasses
sparkling in the morning dews
no commas the flow keeps buzzing
vernal dashes & blossoming branches
on newly greening verdant trees
refrains whispering in each breeze
butterflies — floating apostrophes
ladybugs dot floral question marks
blissful bees stray stanza to stanza
seeds disperse from verse to verse
continuing a poem that’s never ended
and into summer’s colors is blended
Galactic gathering
Standing in a silent still-dark February morning
Cool dewy grass grazes half-bare sandaled feet
Lo! Saturn arrives as Jupiter saddles Sagittarius
Mars burns red near the glowing crescent moon
Serpens slithers against a vaporous galaxy border
Antares winks green and gold, crimson and rust
As Scorpius swings its tail at the southern horizon
Libra starboard and upward of the crowded scene
Balancing askew over the poor impaled lone wolf
Ophiuchus a bystander in the busy celestial show
Move it
Too many of us have a skipping spirit but a sit-still body.
Precarious
Aging is millions of moments
stacked upon tumbling years
Burning
for love’s rewards we stick our necks out
vulnerability a’pulse, blissful anticipation —
and love kisses our risk and nuzzles our napes
but after a time — short or long or in between —
we lose our heads to his swift sharp guillotine
our foolish blind hearts beat on nonetheless
and carry a torch right up to the inquest
Alternate ending
“Hester unadulterated. The end.”
altered prose – found poetry, created from
Myelin
I love you with all my bones — the heart is too ephemeral.
Symptoms, waiting for signs
I love the body. Flesh is so honest, and organs
Abrupt
When you’re used to seeing someone day after day, for years on end, and then suddenly they’re gone, you
It’s personal
there is no timetable for grieving —
grief is a snail
it’s a shooting star
a walk around the lake
it’s eternity
or frost till bloom —
memories coursing through the heart
it lasts as many heartbeats as it takes —
sometimes all of them.