Symmetry of Petal and Soul

Awaken to a yellow sun
smiling daffodil lips
penetrating layers of spring
on a honeysuckle morning,
strumming love notes
into sentences;
dandelion fluff dancing
to dust in our tresses.

We lie ‘neath the willow
conversing in pretty adjectives
trading pink petals
for three little words,
falling back upon forget-me-nots-
blue and forgiving,
like constellations colliding
within the irises of our eyes.

Blanket, basket,
bouquets of marigolds
in scent of summer
under shadow of birch,
glasses bubbling over
stumbling on my words
caught up in your gaze;
limbs bend, curve
to the shape of a heart;
in a silhouette of us.




Just a sprinkle from your fingers
brings dreams to fruition;
sundays delicately flow
like newborn calla lilies
muting the sounds of earth;

thoughts softly spread love notes
across miles of soil, catching breeze,
blowing dandelion dust
over the face of the flowering
like the day you breathed us
into existance.

~I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day 26.

I fell behind due to illness and hospitalization but am determined to finish even if I am behind


I Need More Time On The Wheel

not for the jewels
that shine above us,

but, for gifts, unseen

given from the hands
that join heaven and earth;

the potter
who lifted us from the miry clay
and molded us
into polished vessels

that can only attempt
to mirror his reflection.

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 13.


Love Letter #51: Solace

When morning makes light
of transgressions,
tulips bow and bend
at the mention of his name,
I find solace in feelings;
a whisper of sacrifice
stretched across wood;
remembrance of a love
that crosses boundaries-
tenderly lifts burdens
into heart-shaped wings
of atonement.



Morning Glory

Let Saturday spill through my window;
silhouette of daffodils reflecting yellow
through the shutters as I turn over
and his hand is missing from mine,

but the scent on his pillow remains,
leaving me inhaling the presence
of love and last night’s conversation.

We hesitate to let morning come,
but, oh, how the sun lends light to life;
the red glimmer from a cardinal
taps a love song upon the stained glass;
butterflies chasing daisies, swaying
even in the absence of an august breeze.

At six o’clock A.M., silence hums
and a far away melody strums
to my heart, soft, like his blessings;
like the words we whisper
when no one else is listening.




I used to wait for rain
stand, palms up, pleading
for earth to fall away

so I could bloom;

sat under that weeping willow
many a Sunday, sleeping
under the swish of limbs,
tremble of railroads
echoing at my back-
ears attuned
only to cardinal’s song
to fade the noise
of Monday coming,

It took years of suffering
to open my wings,
to close the umbrella
to feel the son;

to feel the sun.



Dismantled Dreams



We are all victims
    of our surroundings,
  such pleasured beings,

breathing discontent,
buried in circumstance,
                       we climb

   just to rise above the sorrow,
       imagined fear, doubt
           and all these unloving things

            that weigh us down.

        Upon the hour,

    hands oscillate to numbers
 that mean nothing in the end;
 this shadowed fragment of time
           ~ swaying past ~

like overgrown branches
with nowhere else to go
                                but up.