Thursday, April 19, 2018



Some secrets are good and well-intentioned,
like a birthday party--SURPRISE!
Others are more on the shady side,
like when somebody has something to hide.

Some secrets are heavily guarded.
Trouble strikes if they're revealed.
You've been'll regret it,
if those secrets aren't kept sealed.

For example: the government 
likes to keep its secrets under lock and key.
And watch out if you let spill
a woman's age, or weight, or family recipe!

Other secrets are gleefully spread,
especially about those who are famous or rich.
Splashed on the internet in celebrity gossip columns:
rumors or truth? It's hard to guess which.

I know a secret.
Do you want me to tell it to you?
Can you keep it quiet?
Can you? Can you?
You can?
Well, guess what...I can too!

Tuesday, April 3, 2018



I hate waking up from a drifting dream
where things aren't always as they seem.
Where the tick-tock from a clock
becomes an evil stranger's knock.
And someone I thought about during the day
is acting in a peculiar way.
He's invading my thoughts while I slumber.
How does he know me? How'd he get my number?
I'm late. I'm lost. I don't know anyone here.
I'm sound asleep and full of fear.
I'm in a hazy state of confusion.
Is this real, or is it illusion?
I'm in a maze. I'm falling, falling.
Wait! Stop! Stop! I hear someone calling.
"Wake up. Wake up. You're having a dream."
I try to focus. I can't move my feet. 
I'm groggy. I realize I'm tangled in the sheet.
"You're OK, sweetie," you say. "I'm right here."
I wake up and see your familiar face so near.
I try to gather my wits about me.
What is real and what is fantasy?
I hate waking up from a drifting dream
where things aren't always as they seem.
How can there be so much chaos in my head,
when I am safe at home and snug in my bed?

Monday, March 19, 2018

Winter's Final Picnic

Winter's Final Picnic

Winter set a picnic table
with a sparkling cloth of snow.
But one scruffy squirrel
was the only guest to show.

Squirrel brought his own lunch
packed away in his cheek.
He had a big, black walnut, 
dug up by the creek.

Squirrel gnawed on that nut.
He left shreds of shells all around.
He finished his messy meal.
Then he jumped down to the ground.

Spring came along 
and melted Winter's snow.
She tapped Winter on the shoulder
and motioned for him to go.

Winter grumbled a bit.
He coughed out a chilly breeze.
"Don't push me. I'm going," he bellowed.
"But I'll be back later, and I'll bring a hard freeze!"

Spring smiled and waved goodbye.
She said, "Yes, yes, I'm sure you will."
Then she taught the birds to sing again
and kissed a daffodil.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

Wishing a happy spring to all of my readers!

Thursday, March 1, 2018

A Sure Sign

A Sure Sign

There are minor signs about.
Birds are singing in the trees.
Warm weather is calling, "Come out!"
Crocuses are buzzing with bees.

But the real sign that spring has arrived
is right here at my feet.
Not much of the road has survived--
just potholes where there ought to be street.

So... I hit a newly-formed crater.
My car lurched and jerked and sighed.
I knew it would happen, sooner or later.
My front tire hit a pothole and died.

Now, I've got a flat, and my axle is bent.
I think I heard laughter from the birds in the air.
My tire hit a pothole, and it's spent!
(Happy Spring to you! Aren't you glad that it's here?)
Well... at least, I do have a spare.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Sounds of Snow

Sounds of Snow

Silence descends
with the snow;
slowly sifts down,
insulates, and muffles.

Boots break the surface 
and crunch
across the icy crust.

Children squeal with delight
as they tumble from their houses.
Triumphant cries of "SNOW DAY!" echo.

Their sled runners slice down the hill.
They groan and huff, 
breathing in the arctic air,
dragging their toboggans,
climbing up to the top for the sole purpose 
of being hurled to the bottom once again.

More grunts and heavy breathing,
while, with soggy mittens,
they roll up snowmen heads and bellies, 
making criss-crossed trails through the yard.

Forts are built, snowball weapons stockpiled,
imaginary war is waged,
with whoops of victory and yelps of surprise
when frozen spheres splat on their intended targets.

Adults and teens groan and grunt,
as shovels bang and scrape
on sidewalks and driveways.
Loads of snow thump to the sides.
Salt pellets from cans and cups rattle down.
Plows rumble and clank over the roads.
Piles of white slush, morph to gray.

Snow melts
back to a muddy silence,
as water drips to the ground
from trees, rooftops, and gutters.
Trickle, glug, gurgle, seep gone.

Thursday, January 25, 2018



Twice daily they pass by:
the scruffy-bearded man with a slouch hat,
and his little dog Fritz, 
who yaps at the stray cat.

Arthritis embers smolder
in both knees and one shoulder.
The old man's stiff walk
is a badge he wears,
for daring to grow older.

Fritz the dog, 
the man's closest friend for years,
wears a tiny, red coat
and a tiny, yarn hat 
with holes knitted in, 
to make room for his ears.

In all but the worst of weather,
they make their way down the street.
The man shuffles and lingers,
the dog stays close,
just to the right of the man's feet.

Each, without the other, would be alone:
the little dog with no one to toss him a bone;
the old man with no pet to settle in his lap.
Together, they retreat from the world,
to catch an afternoon nap.

Twice daily they pass by:
the scruffy-bearded man with a slouch hat,
and his little dog Fritz, 
who yaps at the stray cat.