Posts for June 7, 2026 (page 13)

I trace the line of the shore
with my bare tiptoes.

The river is cold.

Beneath my feet
are pointy rocks.

I pay no mind.

I look up
to see her in all of her glory.

As fragments of rainbows
shimmer across her body,

the lush green trees
swallow the land across from me.

What a sight to see.

I hear a light tingling of bells
in the breeze,

and my beautiful eyes behold
river spirits dancing before me,

drenched in gold.

Honeysuckle brushes my nose.

I dip my hands
into the cold green abyss.

Then I go.

take pause and stop
to smell the roses.
orchids, verbena,
sweet jasmine if the season’s right

she lingers in your heart’s desire
temptress, lover,
safe harbour draped in silken sheets

Flattered, you preen, your seeds strewn,
you dance with abandon, forgetting the tune.
To be a flower, a profound task.
To live forever the undoable ask.

Once accepted, your only role
is paying the Piper his agreed upon toll.
Shoots rise in the midnight moon
each bud opening, as you are pruned.

In life’s short glory did you idle,
a season of delight, yet ecocidal.

Boxed or booked, after being
social outside the dead
make better companions.

Civilization, morality, justice—
the skim of curdled milk
on the morning cup of poison.

Religion, a pinata tied to a tree
gets beaten by supplicants
waiting for fabulous prizes.

A beagle, combat crawling
under the covers, tail
a mind of its own,
makes magic.

kept in a wheelchair safe from falling
ground-up food, less chance of choking  

You are too educated they say, switch
your station from NPR to Christian radio  

I show up with biscotti and some poetry to read
they shake their heads, no idea who you are

A doe fawned in the stallion paddock.
He wasn’t there when it happened,
munching on sweet feed from his
adorned stable block.

His groom, who knew his every quirk
clipped the gold chain he didn’t need,
around his square jaw and walked
quietly beside him to the green painted gate.

They navigated the obstacle smoothly,
as they had for fifteen years.
They played the game of chicken,
as the had for fifteen years, until

The gold chain slid from his halter and
he bolted on age’d legs.
a colt for just a moment, until
from the grass, a flush of color catapults

the smallest limbs to standing.
now nostrils are flared
and ears are pricked to attention
and the mass of a stallion is

sidling up to the earthy freshness of a fawn.
his head lowered to take in the sight,
and he is capable of grand gentleness
with a creature who benefits him none.

and he reminds us, though one is
built for strength and unpredictability
and maybe his forebears would’ve
chose otherwise, he can be kind.

Sometimes I feel lost in the waves
I fight and kick for the air I crave
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle hand takes hold of me

Sometimes I feel I’m burning bright 
Searing hot and enraged in fight
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle voice speaks to me

Sometimes I feel the cold of doom
Thoughts of leaving for that tomb
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle mind there distracting me

Sometimes I feel I talk to the storm
No one hears the words I form
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle ear is lent to me

Sometimes I feel I’m in the dark
Moving unseen is very stark
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle eye is spared for me

Sometimes I feel so very down
I hang my head, blue all around
But just before I’m overwhelmed
A gentle soul embraces me

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed
But gently, always, I’m returned

(Title from John O’Donohue’s “The Inner History of a Day”)  

day’s hours broken into moments 
moments of puzzled yet trustful wonder 
wonder at each grounded wind-plucked leaf 
leaves born of trees communing root to root 
roots that lift soil’s ever-full cup 
cup to quench every precious moment 

Sometime I will tell you about my father’s drinking,
how he’d sleep one off in the recliner while surrounded 
by family gathered to watch The Wonderful World of Disney. 

I’ll draw metaphor from the car wrecks,
the embarrassing episodes with comely waitresses,
the little league games he showed up to lit,

but fail to mention the stacks of dishes done,
recitals attended without complaint, 
gloss over the tie around the neck 

pulled tight, the late hours keeping a roof overhead,
failed dream of being a fighter pilot giving Charlie heck,
how he blubbered at the end of Brian’s Song,

or his last words in this life — I’m doing the best I can —
whispered through shallow, desperate breaths,
shining an honest light on my duplicitous shadow.