Be a star.
And startle.
Be dependable.
Be who you are,
your very heart

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A voice cries in the wilderness.
A forest tree tall falls.
Will any
stand in readiness?

Will any stand
for anything
at all?

Will we scale
(or fail)
the slippery slope?

Is any of this

Well, yes. . .
And Nope.

For we all know,
no matter what ideas we float,
we’re creatures
that will hem and haw,
and trip
and fall. . .

And stall.

Yes, we’re all here
in one same boat,
leading out a human life,
unlike the plucky.
single-minded goat. . .

But some of us
will heed our heart,
and on its journey
thus embark,

once our hushed, attentive ear
has come to bend
and clearly hear
the call.

Yes, it’s true.
The order’s tall. . .
to some, it looms a daunting chore. . .

But, after all,
it’s what we,
from our very start,
were made for–
not anything that we
or anyone
has ever bought and paid for,

and actually,
the journey of our call
comes in smooth flow,

because it is a perfect match
for our indomitable,
wise, old spirit’s

So, let us
listen very well
in calming peace and quiet.. . .

and breathe that in . .

so, when we’re called,
we answer
and resolve, at least,
to try it,

and in a most efficient fashion,
let’s pause to cheer each other on,

as each goes on
to pack her bags and go.

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Note to self:
Hold that thought!

Or else,
just let it go
and let it be.

It probably will hold by itself,
if it’s a thought
I truly need.

Just as a seed
can wait to sprout,
and later grow up
strong and tall,
and quickly like a weed.

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Hands. . .
hearts. . .

story strands. . .

sweetest trips
to foreign lands,
and even sweeter

upon return
to that home place
that was my start.

Clever tricks with rubber bands
bare toes run through
gritty sands,

and putting back into one whole
whatever, grieving,
had grown cold,

to raise a sparkling sand castle,
to pack it back,
and mend it to its other piece
which had,
in angry fear and ignorance,
and pain,
been torn apart.

And, then,
to let the castle settle,
till it feels at ease
just where it nestles,

so it will stand
a long, long time
because of a construction
from synapse fire to culmination
that was imbued all through with love
and built with practiced skill and smarts.

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The blooming
the twittering
the looming
the jittering,

the buzzing
the zooming
the rising,
pop buds ,
and pop eyes-ing,

the growth that we love
and are loath
to adjust to
or bust to,

the wind billow,
bent willow,
and thick tall green grass

of the season
that jars us,

which we each
find the strength,
to endure,
though we feel
it strains us and mars us,

through the pollen
and dust
in whatever way
that we must,

reaching East, reaching West,
breaching hot climes
with their tropical slimes,
and also in places
with sky-dancing bright lights
where it’s freezing and Boreal,

as this season
since time immemorial,
known to our hearts
with their wish for fresh starts,
which because it is
wont to push up,
our long winter’s sleep
to disturb,
and thus interrupt,

about which we rejoice,
which we might as well do,
for, about its debut,
we have really no choice,

and attempt to join hands
in a far reaching ring,
in every place ’round the world
that now lives in the time
where the year gets unfurled,

because of its upward-bound bounce,
which it wields
each year
the still time of winter
to trounce,

we honor
and with sweet songs,
as we herald the Spring.

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Uncategorized, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


What can I say
in just five short minutes?

Why comes the punishment
down on one
who is innocent?

It’s an imperfect world. . .
yet, we all
must live in it.

Though the surface shows bare,
there’s actually riches
hidden right under there,
which could be,
if we tried,
dug up in a minute.

Or hovering somewhere,
in our vast atmosphere
quite big, but mysteriously
as if it were sneaky,
or else maybe timid.

Or perhaps, in the water,
some colder, some hotter
which flows through our seas,
streams, and rivers
our primeval life-giver
which, though we’ve mucked it up
somehow still lets flow
life’s own force
to some bountiful limit.

The sunshine so bright
warms us and feeds us. . .
Though it,
at least not at one strike,
cannot all our ills right,
but it helps,
as brings
oh so, so
much stuff to light,
and thus helps us see
all that needs to be done,
and whatever from that
cries out to be first begun,
and it gives us
the courage and strength
to begin it.

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The spirit of spring
has asserted itself.

The splendid canopy of summer
is now our striving up-and-comer,
rising up to reach as high
as this good year
will ever swell.

Sun climbs,
blooms of alls sorts
on grasses, bushes,
trees and vines,
the arbor trellis arching over,
the dandelions and the clover,
which anyone who really looks
can see and tell.

But storms of snow
still deck the peaks,
atop the bumps
and gully-creeks
that stream
a subtle gurgling flow
with a faint hint
of undertow,

leaving those who reach such heights
to squint ‘gainst glare,
pump hearts with blood,
and lungs, with air,

and leaving them,
to the degree they’ve reveled
in the wonder
of everything around
that’s out there,
with an incomparably
bright and happy
outer-inner afterglow.

Posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Summer | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment