Monday, January 20, 2020

The Exquisite Scene

The Exquisite Scene

It happened while we were sleeping,
slipping in during the dark of night.
Snow transformed the world outside--made it pristine.
Changed the landscape to black and white.

Now it's quiet and cold and clean
as far as one can see.
Layers of snowflakes muffle each lawn
and drape the branches of each tree.

Armed with shovels, brooms, and plows,
the first ones out to enjoy it
can't help but witness the grandeur, 
just before they set out to destroy it.

Clearing paths for others to walk.
Plowing roads to make room to drive.
Their clank and clang and clatter and scrape 
announce that winter has decided to arrive.

Soon the white will turn to gray,
the sparkle will turn to slush,
and the noise of the street will return
to drown out the peaceful hush.

Take in the glory while you can.
Commit to memory the exquisite scene.
Because as quick as snapping two fingers,
we will be back to the mundane routine.

Monday, November 11, 2019

Where the Pixies Play

Where the Pixies Play

In the meadow, under a pine, at the edge of the wood,
right at my feet, the yellow mushroom stood.
Nothing but an ordinary mushroom by day,
but at night, it's where the pixies play.
Fluttering about with the fireflies;
giggling, whispering, and batting their eyes;
they play hide and seek among the clover,
flitting about, under and over.
They frolic and dance with the other sprites,
whiling away the starlit nights.
When at last the sun begins to rise,
they rest their heads and close their eyes,
but they'll be back when the stars shine,
on the mushroom, in the meadow, under a pine, 
which looks so ordinary during the day,
but at night, it's where the pixies play.

Monday, September 23, 2019

Grandma's Lap

Grandma's Lap

There's no better place
to take a nap
than snuggled up
on Grandma's lap.

She finger sings the spider
up the water spout to me,
and I sit feeling sleepy,
while sitting on her knee.

She softly counts my fingers,
and then she counts my toes.
A yawn escapes from my mouth,
and my eyes begin to close.

Soon I'm drifting off to sleep
with dreams floating in my head.
I snooze and sigh with contentment, 
when Grandma's lap is my bed.

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Childhood Summer

Childhood Summer

Picking fat, green peapods
from the vines growing at the edge of the garden.
Sitting on the porch swing in the breezeway
with my mom and my cat.
Shelling peas from their pods,
scooping them into a stainless steel mixing bowl.
Listening to them ping as they fell,

Childhood summers were so simple.
Riding our bikes together in packs,
all around the neighborhood.
Everyone was your friend--it was as easy as that.
Endless games of wiffle ball in the empty field.
Me, playing second base--never caught a one.
Charlie liked being the pitcher.
His sister, the youngest, always first up to bat.

We played hide and seek behind the lilac bushes.
Mary Aileen really knew how to run!
She'd make it home from anywhere
in fifteen seconds flat.
We kept busy with jump rope, freeze tag, and hot potato,
or tossed pebbles into the creek near the train tracks
and counted box cars from the bridge where we sat.

Those times and places are long gone now.
Many of the people are gone too.
It's no longer possible for any of us
to make it home in fifteen seconds flat,
but if I close my eyes and drift a bit,
I 'm there again jumping rope and hiding in the lilacs.
Everyone is a friend.
I just close my eyes--it's as easy as that.

Sunday, July 7, 2019

Solace of the Sea

Solace of the Sea

Sea sounds bring solace.
Whispering waves ebb and flow.
Waters mirror a scenic serenity,
while salty breezes blow.

Sandpipers play relentless tag,
alternating the chase with escape.
Gentle whitecaps rise to greet them,
carving the outline of the cape.

Seagulls swoop and dive with an echoing cry,
floating white on the cornflower sky.
Troubles forgotten, we lie on the sand
and watch cotton ball clouds drifting by.

For those wondering, no, I am not currently at the beach. These photos are from a vacation a few years ago. 

Friday, June 7, 2019

The Sleeping Baby

The Sleeping Baby

Baby's belly is full.
We have already played pattycake,
read a bedtime story,
and shared a lullaby.

She settles into my arms.
The rhythm of the rocking chair soothes us.
Sleep slowly drifts into the nursery.

Tiny fingers curl
around the edge
of a blanket.

Her breath comes, steady and soft.
Her hair sticks out - wisps of flyaway fluff at her nape.

Snuggled in dainty, white footed pajamas -
speckled with pink stars and yellow moons,
she breathes out a sigh of comfort and peace,
and with gratitude, so do I.

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Just Deer Being Deer

Just Deer Being Deer

Their homes, their fields, and their forests
were dug up and taken over.
Now housing developments and condos sit
where once maple trees shaded clover.

They are forced to share our shrinking land.
Caught between living spaces--
farmers' fields and a few metroparks,
and overwhelmingly "civilized" places.

So they roam in our yards
and graze our garden plots,
because there is no room left for them
in their dwindling wildlife spots.

Their natural enemies are mostly gone.
They have learned to lose their fear
of the people whose yards in which they wander.
No one to blame. Just deer being deer.

Some people don't want to see the deer.
All they know is the damage they've done.
They grumble under their breath
about getting guns and making venison.

I like the deer, though, such graceful creatures,
with big, soulful, brown eyes.
They have long legs, and expressive faces,
and wear a camouflage disguise.

There must be some solution
where wildlife and man both win.
Maybe someday we can fix this mess
we've put them (and ourselves) in.