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Category Archives: Nature

Holiday Couture

Thanksgiving morning is sewn with crystals
draped on every branch.
Sky wears bright blue
with three puffy pink clouds
tossed casually over the barn roof.
Deer accent the wide field beyond.
The two cardinals are almost gaudy,
their splash of color nearly too much
for such a pilgrim holiday.

Dublin Tale

Here on the far side of the ocean
that crazy rumor turns out to be true.
Rain fell hard all night.
Wind swept through the trees,
shook everything loose.
We wake this morning
to a world where all the
streets are paved in gold.

If A Tree Falls

huge branch cracks
mighty snap and rustle as
smaller branches, leaves, apples
collapse in concert, broken
beneath the weight of too much.
this view from the forest floor–
How tall the trees look now.
How apples soften into the earth
How dried leaves crumble,
Melt into the dirt.
Lichens gray as cat fur,
Mosses soft and bristled along the flank,
Mushrooms gilled as sea creatures
Bunched together, clustered and
Humming to themselves.
Everything you’ve carried
breathes out, expands
murmurs to the ground
as you soften and disappear
curious about this new glimpse of the sky.

Silence Sequence

Silence: III
What the tiny noise
of a flickering candle

Silence: II
Fragile vase, clear crystal
Any fidgety toddler
could tell you:
It was meant to fall

Silence: I
Cosmos cut to save them
from first frost
lift pink faces
to the ceiling
searching for the rain

Scary Story, Morning Glory

All summer long, my neighbor’s porch blossomed.
Now those morning glories, sweet faced and blue,
stop their perpetual climb, turn shocked faces
to stare out at the transformed world.
Bare trees, sidewalks covered in skittering leaves,
and their own porch perch surrounded
by pumpkins and paper ghosts.
Yesterday, a fabric witch appeared.
Waiting to see what happens next,
tiny blue faces shiver.

Wild Lilies of July

The orange lilies of July
sudden and unplanned
startling as miracles
are long gone now.
The next act appears:
Autumn wildflowers
star in this season’s hit
side of the road show.

The Sailor Formerly Known As Student

Done with basic training,
a week before he ships out,
he visits us at his old school
crew cut and a camera.
I want pictures of everything, he says—
teachers, cafeteria, library, courtyard, walls,
Books, of course. And the road I live on,
my house, my family, our yard, trees in autumn.

I think of him far out at sea,
with his few carefully chosen books,
and his plentiful photos,
scrolling through his world,
watching maple leaves change
where leaves have never been before
while the ocean swells and wonders
how something so small
captures all this attention.


There’s so little we must Accept in this life—
mostly we can buy or talk, laugh or walk or learn our way
to what we want to know.
But not Everything, not Always.
Sometimes, you don’t get to Know.
Sometimes, the children’s favorite pet
disappears in the night
and never comes home again.
Here you are.
Another step
into the Spirit Life.
You are here.
Another glimpse
Into The Way the World Really Is.
What you thought would be a window
turns out to be a door.
And the door is closed.
And the door is locked from the other side.

Root System

Picture trees—
How the roots (they say)
Extend down into the ground
An equal distance
To what we see reaching up
above us
Try this as another instructive way
To think about people:
How our memories, our passions,
Our worries, our loves
Fill up invisible ground within us
History that keeps us upright
Standing as best we can
In this world.


Steady trunk standing so effortlessly in tree pose.
Above, green shadows,
the sound like water, but not,
like whispering, but not,
this sound that is only itself—
leaves saying something to the sky
or to each other
or to us.

A Hundred Falling Veils

there's a poem in every day

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

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 Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment