Showing posts from February, 2013

The Child

How tiny,
And how delicately strong!
Your finger clutch -
A grip I dared not break.
So full of wonder,
As you looked and found...
And were the magic
In our simple lives.

And I?
Will never be the same
Reminded now of all
I had forgotten


The route I take
From place to place
And save,
The virgin snow.

Winter Fragments

Missouri Weather
Tiny golden daffodil
Wilting on my windowsill,
All outside a pall of white...
Winter caught us in the night.

Swirling flakes
Caress my eyelids,
Wrap the world
In magic white.

To the whisper
Of the snow
And all the greening things
Asleep below

The Touch of Age

The beauty of a closing life -
Gentle, patient, slow decline -
Wisdom of the gathered years
Marked in every wrinkle line.

I, who have so small a life,
Grasp for words that may define
The benediction of a touch...
Palsied fingers clutching mine.


And worn with age
(Four metal strings
The only shiny thing)
And all the heartbreak
Of two hundred years
Deep inside.

What is Poetry?

I believe that the best poems are like sturdy trees. The roots are firmly planted in the very truest and deepest of reality, and the branches reach out and flower into elegant fantasies. My little scribbles are unestablished saplings. Progress is slow, but I like to believe that I can see my young trees growing a little stronger and taller every year.

A wrack of sunset cloud,
A lonely tree,
A child's laughing face,
A stormy sea...
The rhythmic pulse of life
And fantasy
Come dance together,
Making poetry.

Walking at Night

Have you ever noticed how the night becomes hostile when you try to estrange yourself from it? But if you lay aside your light, night-time becomes a friend.

No lantern to illuminate
The gentle soul of night,
Where all the careful, secret things
Are waking out of sight.
A hostile darkness gathers 'round
Your lamp at daylight's end.
But come with me,
Forget your fears...
The darkness is a friend.

Notebook Fragments

I looked through one of my notebooks today - the small blue one that usually lives in my purse and is the catch-all for the thoughts, rhymes, and pretty leaves I pick up on my wanderings - and found this pair of poems written back in November. 

Alone within myself,
And singing to the night -
How can I be lonely
With the starlight
For a friend?

But never lonely,
My shadow is
A constant friend.

And then, I jotted down these lines to keep the other two company.

My Notebook
Virgin pages clothed
In penny thoughts
And bits of rhyme,
Scarlet leaves
And little flower-things...
Pressed mementos
Of another time.

Battle Brother

We've laughed into each other's eyes,
Completely careless of what people thought,
And back-to-back we've stood,
To face the greatest challenges of life.
We've shared the crust of comfort tossed our way,
And in our friendship found it food enough.
We've failed and fought and laughed and won,
And shared the bitter unity of tears.
And in it all, we found the richest thing -
The brotherhood of battle - more than blood.
The tie that, binding one soul to another,
Defies all earthly powers in its strength.