I’ve noticed that my poems often take a commanding tone. They suggest to each reader, “Listen to me. Go do this.” A weakness? Maybe. I need to ponder that. This poem takes that tone, but I don’t believe the tone is born of arrogance. Rather, I believe I, and my poem, simply want to share an experience that I’ve had, an experience born from time in the wood, my favorite place to be, and time in my imagination, another favorite place. 


in the tall grass
where  blades
weave together

like twine
into rope.

still. Let
each moment
the next as a minute

blooms, an hour,
an afternoon.
Mice, burrowing
beneath the green canopy,

may scuttle
about your feet,
appreciate your warmth.
Even the earth
may remember
your heft
and bid wildflowers,
sweet clover

and meadow rue,
to turn their
faces toward you.


Inspired, in part, by a WordPress prompt.

Petals, Like Halos

Not far from hime, I recently strolled through a large sunflower field. I really was an amazing experience. Here’s why. (And yes, I took the photo featured here. The sunflowers you see are the sunflowers I saw.)

photo by S. Thomas Summers

Through a Field of Sunflowers

I should
walk softly,

steps placed
as fallen feathers.

This morning
their heads

are bowed in prayer;
petals, like halos,

long for the sun’s
new light.

Wrinkles and Smiles

Say hello to a stranger. It’ll be good for you.

Produce Aisle

The old woman
in olive slippers

past the onions,
sniffed a cantaloupe,
gauging its heft

in her hand’s
soft flesh.
The wrinkles

about her lips

when she smiled
as I said


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Middle Seat.”


It’s 8am. I am by my window, sipping my coffee, having just spent some time with the Lord, in the Word and praying. All is still; yet, how soon the stillness ends. To work!!


The rusted

on the splintered

where the grass,

with leaves,

has grown
too tall.


Inspired by a writing challenge posted on Impromptu Promptlings.

In the Looking Glass

The poem shared here is inspired by a writing challenge offered on Impromtu Promptlings. In part, the poem is also inspired by The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Only Sixteen.” Take a look at the challenges (and my poem).mirror

Mirror, Mirror

Behind me,
in the glass,
I spy

a smiling troll,
his skin
as pocked

as stone,
for a brittle

and cracked.

I’ll sit on his lap,
live a story,

I am still young.