Category: Author

Ten years old and just discovering the magic of the written word. The beauty of word-weaving. The mystery of poetry and excitement of story-crafting.

The very best came in the mail, letters for me from my grandma.

The first time I saw his face
his eyes twinkled with merriment
His jaw was strong but not obstinate
his voice kind and gentle

The first time we went out together
he brought me a sweet gift
four handmade bath soaps
cradled in a lovely paper-mache bag

The first time he kissed me
the Earth didn’t move
shooting stars did not fall
but my heart sang with joy

The first time we had an anniversary
he took me away to a lovely place
presented me an engraved bracelet
bearing the year we first met

The first time he went astray
due to circumstance, work and play
I feared my heart would burst
filled with abject loneliness and pain

The last time he went away
as the sun splashed down
dousing it’s rays in a Spring ocean
I remembered all the first times

It knows not the heavy toil
it takes from within my
humanly fragile body
to give it rich, nutrient soil.

Soil procured by arthritic hands
dark, luscious and filled with minerals
to assist you as you grow fauna
and flora to cover these lands.

Lands taken, not given, not gifted
from those who valued your worth,
honored and thanked you, their
voices daily in song to you lifted.

Lifted above the glowing rows
of maze you taught them centuries
ago to plant and harvest to feed
livestock, horses, humans and crows.

Crow’s bring warnings of bad
weather, scarcity, war and death from those peoples whom you offered aid
to, food to, friendship to, what you had.

Had they embraced these Tribes
so different from them, I’d not be kneeling in my sweet suburban oasis,
but out on the prairie with pride.

Pride I have for you little garden,
struggling to fill my world with beauty
and grace as your stems and stalks
dance in the wind for your warden.

In response to dVerse Poets pub Quadrille #172 – SHIFT
Posted by Mish

To shift gears
increasing speed
accelerating

Past bright red lights
across stop sign lines
faster and faster

To the next adventure
you race ahead
leaving your last behind

To shift gears
momentum slowing
decelerating

Against the winds of time
life returns to normal
average

In response to Living Poetry’s – Monday Poetry Prompt: Although, Spring, Woodpecker
Posted by Bartholomew Barker

Every Spring you grace my home
your pecking soliloquy
music to my wintered ears

Although my neighbors
both small and frail
do not like the Woodpecker’s wail

I find his call melodious
supporting the tap tap tap
of his favorite pecking base

A choir of Bluebirds chirp joyfully along then there’s nothing better
than nature’s harmonious song

In response to March 20, 2023. Fandango’s One-Word Challenge – SALVAGE

Useful rubbish
discarded and ruined
Broken unbreakable’s
tattered and torn

Calamity and destruction
caused by one phone call
A lifetime of memories
unsalvageable after all

Truth versus fiction
hurt and betrayal
Love on the edge
salvage impossible now

In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #303 ENTERPRISE in exactly 73 words

Unbelievable, I was on The Ship. I caught my reflection in the mirrored console in front of me. Instead of my normally algae colored eyes, brilliant cerulean blue eyes gazed back at me. Long, thick, silver hair, hung low down my back.

“Lieutenant, are you quite alright?” A very recognizable voice asked me. Turning, I found a gorgeous Vulcan standing close, I just had to raise my hand and …

Rrrrrrrrrring!! Damnit, stupid alarm!

There you are
on the other side
of the world

Doing what you do
day to day and
night after night

Here I am
on my side
of the world

Pursuing my dreams
reading and writing
and blogging with friends

Do you think of me
when the moon is high
and a breeze blows in off the ocean?

I think of you
watching Venus and Mars
chase old Sol into the sea

I think of you
when the man in the moon
comes out to play

I think of you – always

Back breaking
legs aching
pulling weeds
and planting seeds

Palms unveiled
not one of them failed
surviving nature’s wrath
until winter’s aftermath

Hands all muddy
nails chipped and cruddy
wet shoes placed in the laundry-room
waiting for spring’s flowers to bloom

The radio blares a warning
severe winter storm is coming
back outside to cover the palms
keep from freezing their fronds

Back breaking
legs aching
I guess I’ll never learn when
Mother Nature has fooled me again!

In response to Bartholomew Barker’s Origami prompt in Living Poetry.

Grandfather say
to fold this way
one two three
let’s your bird free

I tried and I tried
but a bird I was denied
instead into my hand
a crooked star did land

Grandfather say
mine supposed to be that way
what is to some a bird on the fly
are to others bright stars in the sky