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Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
She curls around the
baby like a spiral shell
protecting its snail.
Hills like cut paper
black against tissue blue skies.
Through poked holes, stars shine.
Bergamot infused
leaves unfurl comfort. Problems
dissipate like steam.
Flushing Meadows Park
once a site of hope. There, a
globe pledged future peace.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
Days grow longer like
smiles that stretch wider as one
greets a long lost friend.
Teenager curled up
becomes baby J who’s glad
that mommy’s nearby.
Her breath sounds like the
whistle of distant trains bound
for lands beyond dreams.
Sleep comes like a tide.
Evenings at home, we drift off
heads back, mouths open.
He had a dream but
his murder was our nightmare.
It’s time to wake up.
Today was her last
day on a job I said ‘don’t
quit’ two years ago.
Through the rainforest.
Lunch at Rhythms Rainbow Beach,
then Carambola.
Green flash at Sunset
Grill on Sprat Hall Beach. Then dined
in lush tropic style.
Cruzan pineapple
flavored rum makes happy hour
even happier.
Intense turquoise, the
water is a wake-up call
to swim, sun, sail, dream.
Sleep gently takes you,
like the lethal injection
you cannot resist.
I burn candles and
incense. Maintain silence. Find
myself in nothing.
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
Inside the snowglobe
winter’s still life settles as
flakes swirl in the air.
White has many shades.
Shadow blue, sunlit gold, grey
of approaching storm.
Summer’s sizzle leaves
me cold. Instead, winter’s white
embrace warms my heart.
Gently falling stars,
nature’s sand slipping through the
hourglass of winter.
Some men hug, but G
envelopes, holds tight, then gives
back more than he takes.
She takes such care of
me, reads maps, keeps track of things.
A good friend, and more
Windows at Lord &
Taylor gleam with holiday
scenes. Small worlds of joy
Silence erases
thoughts and stress like dry markers
wiped clean from white boards.
Don’t count calories.
Savor silken pumpkin, tart
cranberries. Taste joy.
Times like these, a hot
cup of tea, a soft blanket
is all that’s needed.
First snowfall blankets
unraked beds of leaves. Nature’s
default is beauty.
Why does burrowing
under thick down comforters
bring such sheer delight?
When you unburden,
you hope listeners will care.
Yet some could care less.
Trees have never held
leaves as late as November.
Frost was wrong. Gold stays.
I’m not here. I’m lost
in Varanasi. A world
Luke Storm opened wide.
Site Meter tells me
my words are read in countries
I’ll never visit.
If everybody
blogged, we could not go to war
knowing each other.
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