My Sunshine, Zoey:

Purple umbrella
hovering low above ground
Sheltering my pup
Her sad eyes look up to me
We are in this together

©️Winter Dawn Burns

interrupted emergence 
the congregation disappears 
    knot tied
to the horizon
the heavens are open
what is concealed
    time
enters the stage
    untied
for the apostles   
            can                        remain
                   this question
                         

I had a poem,
nearly ready,
eight stanzas,
I was happy

then, I must
have brushed some
tiny button somewhere
on the screen

the browser closed,
the poem is gone

I am 57 years into riding the waves of life
some waves are welcome and wonderful,
some are life shattering and heart breaking
I am coming off a wave of the latter, 
and trying to shore up for a big wave of change

While change can be good, and even powerful,
when you are beaten up by big waves and pounded
by the surf, the large wave coming at you can feel
daunting and unsurvivable, but my stubborness
and optimism have kicked in, and I say “Bring it on!”

lifelong pacifist with bloody knuckles
she may be slow to anger
but rest assured, it’s there

left to boil,
to steep and stew
before bubbling over

do no harm but take no shit

What name will we give, years from now,
to this time we’re living through?
It’s no Renaissance, no Enlightenment,
no Terror nor Civil War nor Cold War
though the jury’s still out. Nothing 
with gate as a suffix-—coverups are so
20th century. Everything’s in the open now,
the neighbors saying stuff out loud 
we hoped they’d keep to themselves. 
Every step we take might be off a cliff
into an abyss. Something’s changed;
live-&-let-live is out on its ass. Or maybe 
this is who we always were but didn’t name it. 
Maybe we’re cruel & just don’t know it. 
 

Poet-tree

A lemon tree grows lemons,

And from lime trees we get limes,

It makes sense that in  poet-trees

We produce our rhymes.

They say it’s out of fashion,

And has been so for a while,

But I’m late to the table,

So old fashioned is my style.

My rhyming may be simple,

And some would say it’s immature,

No doubt they know better than I,

So to them I must demure.

But I write for the joy,

And the pleasure in each line,

My writing keeps me entertained,

And for me that’s just fine.

Poems need not be deep nor witty,

Nor need they speak of love,

But some words need each other,

Like a hand might need a glove.

And that’s the duty of a poet,

To pluck them from the air,

And place them all together,

And then turn them loose to share.

So neath the shade of  poet-tree,

Is where I like best to sit.

I’m sure my crop is growing well,

It just hasn’t ripened yet.

The first four avatars of Vishnu:  

a fish                                    
                                        a tortoise

a boar                                         

                                              a lion  

and now Vishnu has taken form
as a squirrel
in my front yard              
                
                                hanging          
                                upside-down  

on the Shepherd hook
beneath the squirrel baffle                

                                 kicking it hard                              
                                 with his hind leg  

knocking the birdfeeder
hanging above it                               

                                 shaking seed     
                                 to the ground  

where juvenile squirrels
(probably his/her/their kits)                              

                                  feast                            j
                                  joyous  

knowing the one true God has a bushy tail

Lets pack a tent
And a couple of sleeping bags
Fill up the tank with gas 
And head out toward Everywhere
Laughing with our face to the wind
Leaving behing all regrets 
Never looking back

A couple of free spirits 
Yearning to be released
Into the wild of a place called Future
Where adventure is hidden 
Yet begging to be seen

Lost years and wasted time
Have stolen our bodies’ youth
But are hearts are still 
As young as Tomorrow
Awaiting all things new

Depending only on each other
Nevery questioning time
I can see your beautiful vision
Just as you can see mine

Now take my hand in yours
Let’s hold our breath, close our eyes
And leap from Reality’s Cliff
Into somewhere Heavenly
And forever more fly

In the natural world wildlife must think
and stay alert to survive.  Maybe a lesson
from Mother Nature is long overdue.
Let us think for ourselves!

I have included one of my favorite quotes:
“Think for yourself or others will think for you without thinking of you.”
  Henry David Thoreau