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Author Archives: Paula

Today’s Feather

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Taking a walk, sunny and sweaty
Beneath a breeze, one gray feather
drifts down, lands on my shoulder
maybe a metaphor
maybe a reminder
of who we could be

Morning Walk Music

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bull frogs sing their song
two quiet crows dream over
the whisper cornfield

Things I’ve Found In My Sneakers Left On The Porch All Night

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Most times, empty
but the wind, the neighbor’s wandering
toddler, my son’s cat, other mysterious
visitors sometimes leave messages
tucked into my shoe
a ladybug or a leaf
a pebble, a frog, some rain
the occasional spider
hot pink geranium petal
tiny crabapple from the next yard
once a missing sock, retrieved from
who knows where by your cat.
Whatever is found, startling
or sweet or nothing at all
I ponder on my morning walk
sleepy attempt to decipher
little mysteries. Do they
mean to tell me what might
happen in the day ahead or
what I missed the night I slept through
or something else I can’t
translate quite yet?

Sunflower Volunteer

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Do the sunflowers decide?
Do they each select a garden,
or the school courtyard
where the baseball team spit seeds,
or my neighbor’s muddy yard?

Next to the street, at the edge
of a rutted dirt driveway
where he parks his motorcycle
one tall and improbable Sunflower
lights the weedy lawn flecked with car parts.
How oddly they are distributed
these gifts of flowers, birds, the gods.
Who know how they choose
the lucky, bemused winners?

Character Reference

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From the parsonage steps,
the minister’s sweet wife waves,
calls out across the street
to tell me what she thinks of you.
He is a jewel, she says.
However, exactly what kind of
jewel you might be
we agree,
neither of us
can clarify

From The Airport In Amsterdam

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between continents
you send me a text
from the airport in Amsterdam
to say you are reading my poems
on the long layover. Meanwhile, far away
(far away? Well, somewhere that is not
Amsterdam—) here, on my summer porch,
I read your message while listening to
a noisy woodpecker working down the street,
the only other traveler nearby.  Amazing.
Amazing we can hear each other
from this distance. Bound together
but also separate, all three of us exactly
where on this world we each
have chosen or are meant to be

Everyday Morning

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drinking coffee before dawn
on the porch
creak of wicker chair
steam rising from cup
minutes pass
Light grows
Sunrise does its
everyday work
No fanfare.
Gradually you
see the world again

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

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