my poetry

A lone bloom

leaned against

the vase’s rim

as fresh and captivating

as baby’s first grasp.



A Poem for The Baby Album

to capture the moment

I take a picture of you-

those unrivaled rolls and cheeks.

(ah! that baby skin! that smile!)

Now, when you’re older I’m assured

to remember you, so perfectly encapsulated!

Yet I know you’ll be changed, grown

unfolded into maturity and real.

And I’ll look at the glossed relic

not with recollection

only disbelief.


Northern Mockingbird

Northern Mockingbird  Photo Credit 

With a peripheral
dart you caught my eye

and this mornings’ catch
I see –
in your ebony beak.



A Sparrow

a sparrow sharpens

his beak in two quick strokes then

darts into the birch.




And what am I ?
you asked me
I did not know what to say
Then, naked against
White sheets.

But as I wash
and hang them
on the line you
fastened taut,
I know.

You are the keystone
And I a dependent-
a spring point
to your stance,
Unmoving and vital-
My crown.


To Seed

寂寞而死的何止水手。Seedheads ,Seed Pods and Seed Picture , Photo Metaphor and Inspiration for CAPI Art Students at, seed, pod, nature, science, plant, beginnings, life, draw, sketch, paint seeds:

The flowers in my garden have

all come to seed and like

the years before this (and the years to come)

I hope for newer blossoms

As I hold them in my hands.



Old Poem

I found one of my old poems. I would have never written it this way now but kind of like it anyways.

A Mother’s Jewelry
The pendant Hangs
regal and stately.
a book rests open
sorts of tales take shape
and pregnant words become
As they are spoken.

Still she reads, pages attend.

Her rings clink and clank.
gold shimmers stone flashes
as picture in the eye.
heart ranked, mind outflanked,

Still she reads, pages bend.

Surely such rings were forged
to be knelt before, kissed by
priests, advisers councilors of old
her veins they enfold.

Still she reads, pages descend.


At Market

Your hands hold fast against the glassed
and banded lobsters. Riveted
by these still silent cramped captives,
their stroking antennas, you stare





Honey Bees

You tell me of the clover

how it trilled

and swayed with bees,

of  hot summers,

and mason jars

filled with foragers,

Seized for the hum!

And my bare feet tremble

Though I do not divine a sting.




Eight Years!


What more can I give you my love?
My body, children, life are yours!
I have but only my troth renewed
And even that is  little forfeit,
For it is gross fruition
to relinquish all of me to you.