Posts for June 1, 2026 (page 13)

Don’t be Stingy with Your Love

Scoop it by handfuls and fling it as far as you can
Letting it shower over everyone and everything.

Collect it in buckets and ladle it in the cups 
Of all who are bone dry and withered.

Carry it in your purse and sneak it in the pockets
Of all who pass with nothing but empty lining.

Scatter it in your garden for birds to carry away to 
All who have no inside place to rest.

Sift it in breakfast biscuits and stir it in supper soup 
To fill the bellies of all who sit at your table.

Smear it like salve in the hands and feet 
Of all who are life-toughened and cracked.

Write it in lyrics and serenade 
All who can’t make their own melody.

Chop it in kindling and light it ablaze for
All who shiver and yearn for warmth.

Plant it like seeds for next season’s harvest to sustain
All who need strength when you are no longer here.

Don’t be stingy with your love
Be oh, so, very generous
Give it until it’s all gone
Because it never really is…you can always make more.

A fresh sweet ripe strawberry, take a big bite.
The sun, watch it rise and set, feel it warm and comfort.
My sweet dog Tara,walk her, it’s what she lives for.
Your Spiritual Heart, reveal it.
With palms together I bow with gratitude
and give thanks for all that life has given me.

Beginning A Month Of Poetry

June is finally here,

I face it with a bit of fear,

Can I really write a poem every day?

I’m betting that I can,

Though I’m not a betting man,

I realize it’s only me that’s in my way.

I have no doubt that my writin’,

Is the thing my mind’s been fightin’,

But this challenge brings a bit of discipline,

So with some literary hocus pocus,

I’ll try to bring to bear some focus,

I’ll labor o’re pen and paper and begin.

With acknowledgement of fear,

I should be writing poems all year,

And not just be waiting for today,

Clunking ‘round inside my brain,

A haiku or quatrain,

Which until written just won’t go away.

And once I’ve done the deed,

I find it’s all the therapy I need,

Suddenly all things look better all around,

On the page I’ve poured my heart,

Once I’ve taken it apart,

And I smile at the peace I have found.

I’ll do my best to recall that feeling,

It’s delicious and appealing,

And I know there’s no better use of time,

Than to organize my thoughts,

Domesticated once they are caught,

Rounded up and printed out in rhyme.

Last June
was a doorway
dark unknown 
shoulder shoving the cold hard stone
that had blocked my path
      longer than I’d realized.
This June is a garden
multicolor expanses and rolling waves of sunlight
I’m still blinking away doubt
barefoot musing
this solar return
     an everlasting evolution.

     6/1/26

Somewhere, wearing the morning sun: 

    Front porch flowers-  
    overflowing dirt, potted critiques-  
    bulbs need replanted, baby…

Sitting, watching the blackbirds roam. 

I take the biggest exam of my life,
tomorrow. 

Today,
all the creative bones 
in my body are broken.

I will try to provoke 
new thoughts after 
the 8.5 hour monster,
tomorrow.

For today,
I have a few 2000 
flashcards clawing
at my back.

lives a multi-level birdcage
that takes up an entire wall
in what the residents call
The Living Room, a funeral
parlor-like room with wingback
chairs and mint-colored couches.  

The birds in the cage are cheerful
and talkative. The nursing
assistants feed them and clean
the cage each day. It’s a legend,
these live captive birds, but we
are disappointed to learn the birds
are gone by the time our Mother
becomes a resident there.  

We visit her without the chatter
and flutter of caged
birds. Would it have made
any difference? After she dies
my sister and I learn they brought
the birds back to the nursing home
but neither of us will even pretend
to wing our way back there again.

June’s gone live/ June’s gone live!
We’re back again/ back again, or
I’ve only met you/ I’ve only met you/
I’ve only met you/ I’ve only met you/
I’ve only met you/ I’ve only met you/
Where are my manners?
Home again/ home again
I’ve only met you/ but we can signal
repetition, and this month/ we broadcast
we broadcast/ we cast in real time!

i feel you dream of alligators in the cave
complaining when you wake of the pitch
the risk of sleeping in such dark for days
the dog is trimmed smaller
when i bite my hand it bleeds watercolor 
because i’ve become metaphor,
my brain thinks nothing for thousands of laps
it runs, swims, bikes, and shoots
all at once, arrives at the same place,
reunites a palm against your softer warmer
the olympics were here once
fingernail frogs were a different delight

it’s like a broken fin, the white shred acute
floating on a lapped wave
strolling by a piece of violence
this summer morning
water everywhere, see?
i even bring it here to the landlock
to hold me
even the poem does
this fake marathon, see?
i’ll land you at the inlet
the mouth
the sun is pink for you
anything for you