And I Will Die


Image by Extra Medium via Flickr

And I Will Die

On that morning
birds will shatter stillness
chant their purty, purty, purty
languish in the heady scent of citrus blooms

On that morning
light will slip through gauzy curtains while
dust motes dance, abandoned to
the whisperings of April’s breath

On that morning
clouds will roll in like frothy waves
stretch to lick the azure sky
dissolve into fragments of remembrance

On that morning
alone in the first kiss of dawn
I will die
and live again.

Previously posted and today linked to One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry:


thirteen ways of looking at trees

Image: The Art of Alison Jardine

thirteen ways of looking at trees

trees know
to bend with the wind
otherwise they will snap.

in the winter
trees seem to die
that is when
they send down roots
a lot happens
beneath the surface

some people are like trees
they reach out
provide food

like some trees
are invasive they
lesser life forms

like some people
without a lot of attention
nature provides
sometimes if they are weak
they need support
now and again
you have to prune
dead branches

if you plant a tree
you are responsible for it
make sure you choose
with care
it like adopting
a child or
a pet
due diligence is needed
before you commit

everyone should have
a special tree
to hold in memory
a place to go
when you are
in that way
a tree is like
a mother’s lap

once you put down roots
you will grow
if you become at one
with your place in life

learn from trees
even though they have differences
they are all trees
they belong together

trees are like families
they have to give way
to make room
for one another

even though trees
come in many different colors
they are still trees
contrast makes them
stand out

when you puncture
a tree’s trunk
with nails
it will bleed
when you puncture
another’s heart
with words
it too will bleed

in time trees
like people
will die
to make room
for new life.

I’m linking this poem to One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry:  The inspiration came from a prompt posted by Brian Miller on that same website for Friday Poetically. It is based on the art of Alison Jardine, the artist behind the image above. For some truly amazing art, visit her site at This poetry is also reminiscent of a form of poetry perfected by Wallace Stevens.

After the Rain

Dew, Flowers, Narcissus

Image via Wikipedia

After the Rain

Diamonds settle on mounds
of Dianthus while
sparrows splash with joy
in sparkling puddles.

Fresh scents suffuse morning
light: lemon
honeysuckle, spice.
Verbena and persimmon.

Today, I touch the moment
but think of yesterdays
when once we walked
in rain and sand beneath

a canopy of stars
we tried in vain to count.
The promises you made
did not endure forever.

And now, alone, I ponder
life transformed by dew.
Taste the sweetness of
tomorrow and a memory.

Linked to One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday: where, if you take the time to browse, you’ll discover some wonderful poetry.


Summer Haiku–One Shot Wednesday

Little Blue Heron (Egretta caerulea)

Image by Larry Meade via Flickr

Purple bruises bleed
into summer’s sky
sun sighs and succumbs

Summer dilemma
green can’t decide what to wear
too many choices.

Blue heron descends
splashes in cobalt water
revels in June warmth

Linked to One Shot Wednesday:

Untitled Octain–One Shot Wednesday

Jean Jacques Henner, Solitude

Image via Wikipedia

Here’s another attempt at an Octain, a poetic form created by Luke Prater and linked to One Shot Wednesday:

Untitled Octain

How many lives are spent in vain,
too conscious of the voice of fear,
thoughts muddled so that sight’s unclear.

They creep through days avoiding pain
or, warped by hate, they learn too late
to trust that love should ever deign

to visit them and draw them near.
Too many lives are spent in vain.

Blessing Way–One Shot Wednesday


Image by cmkalina via Flickr

Blessing Way

Wind curls around a corner of the lodge,
brushes her cheek like a lover,
tousles night-black hair.

Pungent-scented paper-whites bend lower,
touch loamy soil,
prepare to die.

Earth stretches to embrace daybreak,
surrenders flecks of frost,
drinks in warmth.

Facing East, raising a weathered face
into early light,
blessing creation,

Wisdom Keeper lifts her
outstretched arms,
and sighs.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday:

Gone with a Sigh

Gone with a Sigh

Near-winter dampness invades the room,
infects our space, lingers in the air like
twinning wisps of frigid breath and
smoke from your cigarette.

You cannot speak or won’t.
Perhaps you heard me. Maybe not.
Or did you seal your ears against the sound
of my newfound understanding?

By the ice-etched window, quiet still,
you stand, scratching petroglyphs
with your fingernail, eyes fixed on a quail
huddled in the branches of a juniper.

Remembering how I wept
when first I read those words,
(only a girl, I could not comprehend
an ending without joy) I sigh.

And though you do not say them now—
not my dear, nor brutal acclamation,
silence screams across the room. It’s true,
you do not give a damn.

But unlike Rhett, you stay—
a witness to hope’s dying whisper.
You do not stir the embers struggling
to give warmth. Our fireplace goes cold.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday: