eleven years, gone
still think of you when I see
purple hydrangea

front yard May 2018 2

My late husband planted almost all the shrubs in my yard.  I think of him with deep gratitude when they bloom.

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my unripe ideas
promises of future joy
like still green berries

My backyard May, 2018 2

Photo of green blueberries in my backyard.  I’m looking forward to future harvests of berries and ideas.

Posted in Blueberries, Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized | 4 Comments


her boat traversed the channel
and aligned with the sand

her plan was to inject her confession
treat them to a torrid tale

she stepped ashore, checked her sect dress
and walked to the sanctuary

Writing again this rainy Sunday morning with
the Sunday Whirl.  The words today are check,
inject, sect, dress, confess, treat, tale, torrid,
traverse, sand, channel, align.  Brenda’s choice
of words almost always brings me to a story poem.
So much fun!

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The Stranger

she thought she heard his old truck
drive over the hill and park

certain now because her shy, devil cat
growled, slow and low

she turned the light switch
on and off

snatched her cloth bundle of
bread, strips of bacon, boiled eggs, wild plums

covered in new moon darkness, she handed
the bundle to the stranger, standing in the road

Image result for wild plum photos to use for blogsImage result for dark road photos to use for blogs

Another wordle written with The Sunday Whirl.
The words this week are switch, stranger, bread, devil,
on, shy, drive, off, snatches, growl, strips, light.  I used
all of them.

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She’s Rattled

Writing with the Sunday Whirl this morning.  The words are bare, birds, crescendo, rattle, shatter, teeth, honey, blue, gravity, edges, blood, electrify.  I used them all.  I hope I’ve not forgotten how to post in WordPress.  It has been a long time.


She’s Rattled

her bare teeth draw blood
the wounds blue at the edges

the taste is honey
electrified by the moment

the crescendo of bird’s song
shatters the silence of dawn

rattled, she allows
gravity to close the lid.



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I Remember

I Remember

I remember the man wiping
his face and tear filled eyes.

I remember his life-long work
for justice

and his work to ensure
we do not forget.

He’d want us to remember
how it started with an election.

Simon Wiesenthal,
we have not forgotten.


It is Father’s Day and I’m thinking of my dad and the flash backs he had about World War II. I was born a few years after the war ended. It is hard to know the energy that passes forward to a new born child, but I sense that echoes of energy do pass through generations. I know World War II had a great impact on all our lives, even if we weren’t yet born.

I’m also thinking today about another man horrifically touched by World War II. His name was Simon Wiesenthal. 

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surprise in the pines
fruit and flowers cover the ground
surrounding Ganesh

Cedar Hill was a retreat center established by a couple of Catholic nuns in Dawsonville, Georgia.  The book club I belong to was started at Cedar Hill.

The first time I walked the trail through the woods there, I was surprised and delighted to see a statue of Ganesh with beautiful flowers and fruit covering the ground around it.

Some years later the nuns left for other places and work in the world.  Cedar Hill then became an education center dedicated to sustainable living, and is now closed.

Along with other people and places, I miss Cedar Hill.

Posted in Art, Essay, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments




bodies can bruise, stagger, 
and tilt with a breeze

psyches can hamper, crack,
and smile with an angle

but spirit-awakened instinct
cannot be lead astray

Written for The Sunday Whirl using the twelve words pictured above.  I do enjoy the creative challenge of writing a poem with random words.  Don’t forget to honor your instinct as you journey through your week.  Happy Sunday!

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Wholly Human

Sunday Whirl 7-12-15

there’s a spell called branding
that you alone decide to cast

not witches
although you’ve branded them too

and caused much pain
like the sting of a scorpion

turn your ear
but not a blind eye to branding

you don’t need a crystal ball
to know its heartbreak

hunt for and resurrect your personhood
leave branding to corporations

they brand everything
from dolls to werewolves

if you must brand yourself
brand yourself wholly human

I’m writing this morning for The Sunday Whirl.  The words this week are indeed a challenge. Words I would not have used and a poem I would not have written, otherwise.
And that is exactly why I enjoy The Whirl…it challenges my creativity!

I surprised myself by how long it has been since I posted a poem.  I’ve written poems, participated in creative challenges, and read poetry around town.  But I felt most of the poems I’d written through the winter and spring were too personal for the internet, at least for now.

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Good Enough

she said
if short is good enough
for Rumi
it’s good enough
for me


Posted in Poet, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 26 Comments