Here, at the End

Here, at the End

All should be simple.
Lay me in the earthy dim
beneath tall grass
and lilies that sway

as a trumpeter’s brass
amid a slide of music and song.
Bid the sprites, with glass wings,
to hum quiet charms

recalling the breath I’ve spent
listening to trees whisper
secrets to the air
Call the goblins, that lurk

in black caves,
to drum, as thunderous hearts,
their confessions:
I knew each of their names.

Belly of the Sky


The gnomes, with red hats
rising above the grass
like tiny pyramids,
dart between the geese

with sharpened sickles
harvesting the succulent,
green stalks
before the squawking

feathered beasts filch
the bounty the elder gnomes
will weave into homes
along the river

where the wildflowers tower,
scratching the belly of the sky.

Weekend with Washington 

I was unable to post a poem on April 29th or 30th because I was camping at Washington Crossing State Park near Trenton, New Jersey with my son and his Scout troop. 

Today, rather than a poem, I will share some sights from Washington Crossing.

I’ll begin writing again very soon. 


New Awe – National Poetry Month – Day 28

“For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Important (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles could include: “Important Documents,” “Important: Read Before Assembling,” “Important People,” and so on. I hope everyone finds something important to write about today.”

The Importance of Cool Earth Beneath Stone

Watch a child’s face
as he pulls the stone

from its rest,
tips it on its back

like an unfornutate turtle.
There, he sees

what needs be seen,
a world beyond his own:

the legged things,
gangly and afraid,

twisting to recapture
shadow’s cool sanctuary.

His eyes widen,
his jaw drops

beneath the heft
of this new awe.

Feathers and Light – National Poetry Month – Day 27

“For today’s prompt, write a take off poem. Take off work for you admin assistants out there (and any other workers). Take off a runway–for those of you who like to fly. Take off from a dangerous or weird situation–or maybe even a comfortable one. Or maybe you have a completely different take off of a “take off” poem. Go on and take off on your poetic paths.”

Feathers and Light

At night, when the moon lavishes
its light on the willow’s limbs,
lacing the tree’s weeping green silks
with luster and gleam,
sparrows shed their feathers,
revealing hidden forms,
fairies who reach arms
into the trickling shine,
who knit light into blankets
that will warm their soft skin
until new feathers sprout
and hide their frail forms
as the morning yawns
and bids the world good day.

This Rain – National Poetry Month – Day 26

“For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

  • Write a love poem. Or…
  • Write an anti-love poem.”

This Rain

The broad leaf,
laden with rain,

will bow, let slip
its treasure of water,
shimmer and silver,

to the leaf
that, below it,

as an open palm,
bearing each bead
of water until it bows

to the leaf below
its generosity,
until the tree’s roots

their contented full.

The Petty Wild – National Poetry Month – Day 25

“For today’s prompt, write an exercise poem. The poem could be about a specific exercise, or it could just incorporate exercising into the poem. Or it could be dedicated to a piece of exercise equipment–so an ode to an elliptical machine or those hand grippers or something. Of course, not every exercise is physical; there are military exercises, mental exercises, and so on.”


The Petty Wild

Can you hear the labored breath?
The chipmunk’s lungs, tiny pockets
filling and refilling with air…
There on the toppled birch, he pants
after zigging through the yard,

weaving through the lily bed
and under the golden forsythia
that reaches above the rail fence
to read the wind as a blind man
slides his finger tips across a sheet of braille.

Then the tired creature looped
around the bird bath’s stem,
bounded above a regiment of stone
that barred an advance of tulips
and the burning blooms of marigolds.

After which, he followed the garden hose’s twirl,
circling under the oak’s stout limbs,
its crooked fingers, finally to rest
there on the fallen birch,
white bark as white as bone,

all to impress the chimney swift,
that, with bladed wings,
soars above the rooftops
as quick as arrows,
mocking the chipmunk’s jealous feet.