What I’d give 
     to smell your aftershave
     to touch your hand
     to see your face
     to taste your mouth
     and hear you laugh again

Doug working in his home office



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Likes and Dislikes

I detest jealous bosses,
hateful gossips,
and the routinely late.

I like old graveyards,
flower-filled window boxes,
and secret doors.

I cherish
sitting for hours
talking with K.


My poem Likes and Dislikes came up as a Facebook memory today.  It was posted on September 23, 2012.  Although six years old, I decided to post today because it still rings true.  My talks with Kay are more often on the phone these days instead of in person, but our talks can still be hours long.  



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Ancient Text

a crow’s cry cracked the silence
Sidra emptied her cup

even in this dark space
she saw that

the calligraphy was tinged
with red wine

a strap
bound the ancient text

she wanted to tap the secrets
of this fragile manuscript

to have her name
placed on the pages of history



Writing again with The Sunday Whirl.  I used all the
words in some form in my story poem.  The words are:
cup, calligraphy, bound, name, 
strap, cry, tap, space,
red, cracks, dark, tinged.  
It is my joy to write a wordle!
The photo is by SusuMa in Pixabay.

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New Place

desiring a new place
to set it down
to set me down

could I see my old place
with awakened eyes
with a new story

does needing a fresh start
require a new place
or would a divergent story suffice


poem for blog 1

Written in a workshop (Exploring Epiphany) led by
John Fox of Poetic Medicine.  We were to take inspiration
from a line in Fresh a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye.

I chose the line And set it down in.  We had about five
minutes to write a poem.

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looking through my kitchen window

I notice my fig bush has grown
several feet since last summer

I can no longer pull down the top limbs
to harvest the ripe, brown fruit

when contemplating my figs, I usually think of
Middle Eastern markets, hillsides, and biblical stories

but today, I think of my mother
and her two great fig bushes

she canned fig preserves
delicious on her homemade, buttered biscuits

even the butter was homemade
when we lived on the farm

but the fig bush I thought of today 
was the one behind her well house

on the barren place we bought
after selling the farm

when lightning struck and killed her fig bush
she never planted another

to my surprise, she said she was allergic to the bush
and would get figs from friends

now it comes to me
I know what she meant

I’ve learned to suit-up with long sleeves
and long pants when I pick figs

not only sensitive to the leaves but also
the scent it spreads around itself

still, I never fail to don my clothes and harvest
the bounty of the bush’s summer sweetness

standing in the yard, I eat my fill
straight from its limbs

thinking of
by-gone-times and far away hills

Fig 2 7-13-18

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his stomach knotted
as he recalled the pattern

his thoughts tightened
as he climbed the graveled path

he had trimmed his plans
to keep them simple and low-key

the ocean spray calmed him
as he walked the cliff’s edge

suddenly, he spread his arms
to soar

Ocean Cliff Sunday Whirl Photo

Writing with The Sunday Whirl this morning.
The whirl words are simple, trim, knots, gravel, low, spray,
path, edge, spread, tight, climb, and pattern.  I used all the
words in some form in my poem.

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what’s so?
life, energy

it was here
long before humans

and will be here long after
we are gone

Mulberry Garden 4

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assuming another identity
I walked from my office desk
to Atlanta’s tree-lined streets

in every kind of weather
escaping is why I relished
my private detective work


Sabra and Shanhee

An old photo from my years of detective work.
My position was in accounting, but I took undercover
assignments when a woman was needed for the job.
My sweet puppy’s name was Shanhe, a Ihasa Opso.
He was a tiny baby then.

Written for The Daily Creative Practice Summer
Solstice Creativity Challenge.  The theme is Secrets.


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meditating on the front porch
late afternoon sun, bathing all of me
I’m mindful of sounds in and around me

to my left just off the porch
the soft rattling of a bird’s call
the comfy purr of a black cat rubbing my right leg

in the distance, the flowing hum of auto traffic
an airplane high above, barely audible
and the hiss of my tinnitus, always with me

front porch May 2018 1

One of two ferns that hang on either end of my front porch.

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she listens properly to herself
she breathes deeply and digs deep into years of dull memories
she bears witness to her own earth spirit and to sacred writing
her reverent acts of a re-creation of self

Sunday Whirl 1

Wordling again.  Writing with the Sunday Whirl this afternoon.
I used all the words in some form.  Happy Sunday!

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