Friday, May 26, 2017


I stood beside the night river,
water flecked with dancing light.
A gleam appeared, a moon sliver,
suddenly: dark bird in flight.

I shot arrowed eyes after that bird
til silver tears obscured my sight
trying to glean unspoken meaning
held at the core of a bird in flight.

As I aimed my eyes, I thought:
This is what it means to die;
dark birdform winging, noiseless,
across a purple twilight sky.

Those still living left as archers
to watch that dim arrow at night
craning our necks to follow the going
until it finally moves beyond sight.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Railroad Tracks

I got built ninety years ago by
sweating stinking swearing men.

For decades every kind of train
screeched on my back. No more.

Winters here can be pretty bleak
but wildflowers always come back.

Empty nests have a forlorn look
til the songbirds return in early May.

The swamp is quiet but soon frogs
will take up their monotonous chant.

My back remains unbroken but only
ghost locomotives rattle these rails.

From Ordinary Things: Poems From a Walk in Early Spring
Memory Loss

It’s not like losing a wallet,
or even your best friend.

Losing your memory is
losing yourself.

Each sentence Grandma speaks
makes me think of crossing a river.

She steps from word to word
until suddenly

she stops in the middle, disoriented.
Should she go back or keep going?

Mom takes Grandma by the hand
and helps her to the other side.

from A Writing Kid of Day: Poems For Young Poets

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

     Low-tide bonanza:
     a seagull slurping seaworms
     like squirming pasta  

Monday, April 24, 2017


Weeds in the sunlight,
swaying in the breeze.

Weeds pollinated by
hordes of hungry bees.

Weeds softly whispering,
spilling secret seeds.

Weeds multiplying:
weeds, weeds, weeds.

                           Dandelion, ragweed,        
                           Queen Anne’s lace.

                           Weeds in my dreams,
                           weeds in outer space.

                           Weeds on vacation
but more staying home.
                           Sneaky little weedling
                           sprouting in this poem!

Friday, April 21, 2017

      Alabaster neck
      turns from graceful to lethal
      in one violent SPLASH! 

                                    from Flyku by Ralph Fletcher

Thursday, April 20, 2017

     Joined at the hip
     pelican and reflection
     swim in sky blue light.

                  from Flyku by Ralph Fletcher