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This Bowl Of Leaves

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gathered on today’s walk
this bowl of supple leaves in bright shades

this bowl of supple leaves in bright shades
tomorrow’s crumbled leaf dust

tomorrow’s crumbled leaf dust
tonight’s centerpiece glowing in candlelight

How To Be Invisible

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last week, walking to the library
in the rain
an angel
sped by on a dirt bike
muddy legs
gold tipped wings
fluttered in the wind
I waved as she or he went by
but who knows
if the angel could see me
buried as I was behind
thick air, books, and worries
Especially the worries.
I read once that carrying them
all day leaves a trail behind,
a residue of gray dust
which dampens the light
and makes you invisible
to all things holy or magical


Giving Up Hurry

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I’ve given up hurrying for Lent
and I remember enough
of my Catholic childhood
to know we’re nowhere near
Lent. But once I decided
I wanted
to get a jump on it
and begin
this long process of

Sometimes The Earth Is Just Showing Off

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Oh the Earth, there she goes again
only today, you wrote an ode
to the end of colors
and what does Earth answer?
Here, swift moving flash of light brown
(fawn-colored) crosses the road ahead.
Around the next curve,
sunrise paints the gray road
incandescent orange
So there, she says.
Go put that in a poem.

Everyone Remembers What It’s Like To Be Thirsty

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blue jay, yellow leaf
land together
in deep green
end of season

drink it in.
all this brightness
will give way to

This Used To Be The Middle Of Autumn

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Welcome to
the new season,
one of my favorites.
We used to call this
the middle of autumn
Now, after intense campaigning,
it is officially known as
The Season of Many-Colored Leaves
Throwing Themselves at Your Feet
(Often in Sunshine)

This season will be immediately followed
by The Season of Crunchy Leaves

Oh, help me remember—
What is the name for the season after that?

October Begins

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October second—
nights cool, green maples
hum in the shower
practice scales under their breath
tuning up for the big show

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook


Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry