that's mrs. mediocrity to you

squirrel fight

dove coo

blue jay belligerent

.

skin soaking up sun

anti mirror

wide smile

prismatic

.

desiderata

forgotten

.

and she walked
the center line
straight past the pond
of forgiveness

.

i listened for so long i went silent

mute as a river drinking dawn in the forest
mute as a sky bright with stories of stars
mute as a heart bleeding love like a wound

there are no words for any of this
no lexicon
for racing blindly through the darkness of reality
hawking bliss and deprivation in quiet turn

i am echo
singing jagged edge
across each mountain

you are breath
and something
less tangible

or everything

it’s all there
ramshackle and ready
prepared

but we’ve forgotten
history
her story
our collective
mind

i walk this path
i have traveled
too often

watch two bluebirds
savor sunshine
just the way March requires

i remember you there
on my windowsill
all magic and tragedy

survival
so often depends
on kindness

i say nothing

. . . . .

. . . . .

the super sweet blueberries dropped into oatmeal

the smell of lilacs, just outside an open window

a new loaf of bread popped in the oven

a robin, a cardinal, a chickadee

a messy house, a messy garden, a messy life

in need of sorting, cleaning, scrubbing, tending

waiting to be torn from disarray

and pasted back in perfect place

as i sit here

contemplating nothing

sipping tea

and mostly,

smiling

.

.

.

there are leaves on the trees again
and the crabapple is blooming

the robin sings me awake
and then puts the sun to bed with

a story that has no words
and a song that carries sky

there’s a starling
trapped in the chimney
scratching code
in night-blind terror

and i cannot tell you
how much
i need

to listen

.

.

. . .

.

(p.s. i rescued the starling)

.

.

.

.

if you need to bleed

let it go

if you need to weep
if you need a river
if you need to wail
if you need to shiver

let it go

if you need deep silence
the despair of solitude
if you need to repent
or the bliss of belief

let it go

if you need to laugh
if you need a mountain
if you need to howl
if you need a fountain

let it go

if you need to bleed

let it go

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

hinterland

i miss you
the way a flower
grieves lost petals

still
i set seed

feeding hungry birds
and ravaged wildlife

refusing
sun’s command
to wither

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

the dead fox

kitten
curled in a ball
at the side of the road
has been there
for a week
now

yesterday
the turkey vultures
arrived

squawking rudely at me
as i skirted by:

circle!

circle!

circle!

before rising
into deaf grey sky

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

forty-eights
masks

so far

miles of
fabric
and neat rows
of stitches

bent neck
sore back
pricked fingers

today
that counts
as poetry

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

silence
(you said)

and i refused
to listen

in the stillness
that followed

i remembered
the sound

of recalcitrance

your breath

and

six miles
of liberty

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

mo(u)rning song

a grey veil
of fog

does not stop
the red, red cardinal
from singing

from the topmost branch
of the still-bare tree
planted by the echo
of ancestor

in the hedgerow
red-winged blackbirds
harmonize

crow vies with jay

together we begin

a new day

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.