Walking a straight
line is a myth
A truth which grows
ever more apparent
as I approach sixty
Life is never so simple
Even the white lines
guiding us down the
road are broken
Solidifying only when
extra caution is required
It is tempting
to wear blinders
Attempt a straight
line to my destination
But there is so much I would miss
The rose-pink glow
bathing this very morning
in brilliant warmth
The crisp air
on my face as I
lower the window
Smiling as I snap
a quick photo of the
rosy pink sky-twice
Wishing I could
watch it fade away
before driving on
Driving on anyway
In awe of the sweet
warmth at my back
Relieved my path
is not a straight line
It never has been
Simply Sunday
Tenacious Tree
Your foliage
struggles in
the summer heat
Not the most
beautiful tree
in the garden
Patches of brown
overtake your
remaining green
Yet, you gently call.
And I intently listen
You surely have much to say
Branches twisted,
pointing in all directions
Signs of enduring courage
If I sat at your feet
for only a day
I would surely be changed
WHEN?
Another school day
filled with laughter
and learning
shattered by the
sound of gunshots
Screams and cries for
help followed by silence
Children hiding with
their teachers, frightened
Training put into action
Training that should not
be necessary for actions
that should never occur
When will we decide enough is enough?
When will we choose love, instead of hate?
When will we weep instead of foolishly arguing?
Mourning innocent lives
left lying on the floor
of the very place they
should have been safe
I wrote the first version of this poem in 2022. I’m sad to say I’ve rewritten it and reshared it too many times since then.
Head to Toes
I am in motion
but the day is
somehow still
Only rain for
my companion
Trees stand
motionless
as green leaves
drink in raindrops
So many days
passed without rain
Now, today, I walk
across liquid glass
I should uncover
my head, let the rain
fall where it will
but I don’t- well,
Only long enough
to unlock a door
and step inside
out of the stillness
Not ready to be a cog
in the busy wheel again
If only I’d lingered,
stood still, taken a
much-needed drink
And felt the approach
of this new season
precisely as the trees-
From my head to my toes
Simply Sunday
Limits
How do I know them
without testing
How do I test
without facing fears
Once set, how do I
accept and maintain
Or know when it’s time
to test them again
Questions resurfacing
during recent scenic,
but harrowing drives
Past experiences in cars
suddenly out of control
inducing present fears
My desire to stand under
the wisdom of giant trees
tugging at my soul
A fear my body remembers
fighting with an experience
my heart strongly desires
A work in progress
Accepting my limits
Not giving them control
Forever treasuring the
feeling of walking through
a grove of Giant Sequoias
Mariposa
You greet me with
the fresh scent of
pine bark and soil
Like the smell of air before rain
Your guardians stand
majestic and grand, some
over a thousand years
I am a guest in your home
Gray squirrels scurry
across fallen branches,
dark-eyed juncos sing
Sweet melodies reminding
me again my visitor status
This is not my home
A message reinforced
in my tired body with
each continuing step
How foolish to consider
only the humans who first
encountered your wonder
Now, I imagine a black bear
lumbering through your
gates, groggy from hibernation
A yellow warbler finding
rest in your treetops
following a long migration
A swallowtail sipping
sustenance in a meadow
of springtime flowers
Thank you seems insufficient
Today, it is all
my heart can manage
Mariposa Grove, Yosemite National Park
Traveling South
Stunning sunrise
on my right
Lingering Moon
on my left
A perfect spot for
contemplating
the coming day
The sunrise feels
grand, vibrant colors
impossible to ignore
Brilliant light rising,
reflecting, refracting,
lifting, and warming
But the Moon seems
so small.
It looks a bit lonely.
Until it dawns on me
The Moon is resting,
soaking in sunlight
to be reflected in
the coming darkness
And there’s a person,
waiting in the dark
who will witness
this same Moon
The brightest light in their sky
Still traveling South
Wondering
What I will reflect
in the coming day?
Community
We each hold space in this world. Each heart beats, longing to connect with another. We cannot look away from the marginalized and forgotten. They belong.
I’m proud to have this poem nominated by Emerge Magazine for Best of the Net. I hope you’ll take time to read it along with the others. ❤️
Falling
A fear of falling
Something I understand
and consider more often
the older I become
The same fear that
sneaks in as I push my
granddaughter on the swings
“Higher, Gigi, Higher!”
But falling is also
something to be
chased after
To experience
Falling in love
That one I understand
Fear may try to creep in
but it doesn’t win out
I wish I could think
of falling more in
terms of a waterfall
A sense of letting go
A freefall releasing
the weight of fear that
sometimes freezes,
only to thaw in an instant
Releasing my true self
as you watch, cheering
me on-reaching out
your hand when I do fall
Helping me back up or
lying down next to me
on the ground, until
I’m ready to try again
Simply Sunday
Purple Blanket
You stood in the
tall green grass
Its blades almost
above your head
I wasn’t sure if
I’d see you again
in light of current
proposals for change
Changes in the name
of progress, of course
Giving little consideration
to your fragile forest home
Your mom stands steady
near the tree line’s edge
Her gaze fixed on you as
your head tilts and ears perk
She is still and quiet
while you explore
Always curious about the
world outside of your own
And I watch, grateful to see
you, Doe and Fawn, securely
wrapped in the soft, pale
purple blanket of morning
