Five petal scent plumeria
light alba bright rubra
stretching up within a web
of glass & steel & stone, sun
shared with the solar panels,
caged for our climate.
Obtusa exuding stale air-
hanging Singapore corpse flowers.

begins in blue glow. tulip trees–and red oaks,
pines, poplars, willows come forth first.
rising red-orange glows over bluegrasses–
and switchgrasses and fruity-fresh, purple
pitcher sage. all sway in gentle breezes
after yet another rain. threads of colors mesh
into blue-grey clouds tinged in white. sun
now stronger casts its glow-magic on all below.
i open window’s door, settle onto porch swing,
to gentle sway of wind and earth and water
and fiery feelings as i gaze upon quarter-horse
sister, destined not to race but be companion.
sugary scents of hay cut yesterday wafts
round and birds flit by–cardinals, yes,
and bluebirds, sparrows, now yellow warblers
with their sweet, sweet, sweet songs. bees ignite
on goldenrod–and bee balm, sunflowers,
zinnia rainbows. i step out, barefoot, yes,
and dig my toes into this borrowed earth.
grateful to understand.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Step Six of the Twelve Steps of programs such as A.R.T.S. Anonymous is, “Were entirely ready to have God [Higher Power] remove all these defects of character.”

Take my defects of character.
No. Not my stubbornness.
Let me cling onto some
Of my old ways
Like I cling onto this walker
That sways.
 
OK. Take my impatience.
No. Not if that means
I am the created
Rather than the creator.
Following up and following through
Can make my brain go a-blur.  

OK. Take my self-pity.
Take the frozen tears.
Mold me to serve others.
Help me squelch my fears.  

OK. Not the self-pity.
How about the stinking thinking?
It’s clogging up space
In my already scarred brain.  

Let my envy, greener than
A fresh dollar bill
Let it be the one defect of character
That to you, I surrender.
Take it wherever adheres to your will.
But leave me the stubbornness.

Deflating yesterday’s pompous offering
                        I suggest
                        we are what we’ve been told
                        Distilled by observation, critical thinking
                        and common sense
                                               
So it’s way back when and Jimmy and me
are walking along hungry with a stick and a rock
bitching that the Chief has all the women
and we see this snake never seen before
weird with no legs and Jimmy says 
Let’s get it and I say Wait a minute Jimmy
He jumps and it strikes 
With luck I hit it with the stick
and smash it with the rock
but poor Jimmy is not good

So back at the huts 
I tell the Chief the story except for the luck part
and he says:
                        These Jimmysnakes, we honor you Jimmy
                        Are very dangerous by striking
                        Can be killed with a stick and a rock
                        Look like this and are delicious
And we say:
                        Thank you Chief
                        we have heard your wise words and will teach
                        our great-grandchildren blah blah blah
And the Chief says:
Thanks to Steve for killing the Jimmysnake
And bringing back poor Jimmy
You can have my 17th daughter Em borne by Judy blah blah blah
                                          
 Hey I’ve got a wife
and I’m a hero
I’m not Steve I’m Steve JimmysnakeKiller
The baddest Jimmysnake killer ever!

Em touches my hand and says:
                        Isn’t there only one?
                        It’s time to leave you’ve had your fun
                        You mess with Jimmysnakes you’ll wind up dead
                        Say goodbye to poor Jimmy and come to bed

Every child’s name,
thirty six years of teaching,
hoping they are loved.

KW
6/2/2024

When ideas for a poem bulge
like rain-laden clouds,
there is no need for artificial
seeding. Words bolt
like lightning, hitting paper
faster than the speed
of sound, sounds streaming, 
no, teeming, into liquid
lines, backs turned to syntax
but thundering with
undertones. Leave your pen
only after distant valleys
echo petrichor’s silence.

It’s a new day
just beginning
the sky is still pink
from the rising sun

There is promise 
in the new day
as the day unfolds
without the intensity of yesterday

There is hope 
in the new day
as decisions are fresh
and prayers are uttered

While the day is new
the life is not 
and challenges
and difficulties are present

But with a new day
change is possible
and new circumstances
arise with endless possibilities

 i have spent so many summers 

I was born two halves of a whole.
I kiss some with the same mouth
that has bitten many.
I have tried to haphazardly
stitch the two together,
but the contrast is jagged
and clear.
I am Christlike in my love,
but I am Godlike in my wrath.