Fog ~

Fog is like a big gray wall, except that it is all soft and misty. It 
seems to ensnare you in a realm all your own and set you entirely 
apart from the outside world. You may walk on and on and never 
appear to be going anywhere. Time seems to stand still.
   Some people think of fog as dreary and forbidding. I think it is
beautiful and mysterious. When you approach a light very closely 
you can see the fog softly floating about like beautiful billowy 
clouds . It seems as though it is trying to enclose the light and hide it 
completely from view.
   I love the musty damp smell that accompanies a fog. It is utterly thrilling
to wander aimlessly when mists change the world, making everything
even yourself, feel unreal.

Denver Summer Night ~

This night each starry stab of light 

across the river trails a wriggling 

snake of silver 

in the water ...

A distant sadly comic saxophone 

cries faintly in the black and sultry summer 

mystery

Who ... stole my heart away?

Who ... an old piano mingles soft 

into the blessed Colorado breeze

crickets chirp and rasp a song as your 

slow breathing in my ear blends with 

the heat, the scent of dewy clover and 

the not quite heard strum buzz of stars.

It is a night for nakedness 

of soul.

(wildflowers are from my garden) 

Do You Remember?

Do you remember

how they looked and spoke and moved about 

so many years ago?

How their voices 

long since stilled by time 

once spoke your name?

Do you sometimes 

think of them 

trying to make the memory of their faces

come sharp and clear and beautiful 

only to discover 

that like old and yellowed photographs 

quaintly posed 

tranquil and faded 

there is sadness even in their smiling?

Sometimes do you wonder 

hopefully 

if they could see you now 

that it would be 

so beautiful for them 

an occasion for 

rejoicing?

Now that all their ancient love 

has long since burned to hallowed ash

do you remember 

how much of all that love

which warmed their hearts 

and stirred their hopes 

was preciously ...

just you? 

(photo is from Google ) 

The Reliability of Books ~ A Love Poem

When I can no longer have you 

I spread your books beside me in bed

sleeping with pages your fingers have turned

sleeping with words well-loved by you.

It is a small consolation for your absence 

for the nearness of your body next to mine 

I pull a book to me in the dark 

not knowing its title 

spread it like palms across my body

feel it move with my breath 

make it pulse like my heartbeat.

Books have filled these empty spaces before 

I know the pleasure of their reliability
awaiting your return.

Gossip

If time would stop 
sundials stand at noon

winds not blow

leaves not fall below

on your command 

I would listen 

to the words you hurl 

and they would hurt.

But time does not wear patience 

in her hair 

weather vanes blow north and south 

acorns grow 

fall upon the ground.

And I will braid your multicolored words 

into a rug 

and throw it down 

to hide the dirt.

A Love Poem

One afternoon 

when trees stood clear 

against the sky 

at dusk 

the light, a pale soft gray 

I sat down 

to write you everything 

I've wanted to say 

but now I have the chance 

I find my words of passion, love and romance 

lose all their heat 

when dressed in black and white 

and fall in silence 

on the printed page ...

I need the poets 

of another age 

to write their sonnets 

full of furbelow and fuss

I can only show 

you how I feel.

(Picture of us was taken on Mother's Day

my husband always takes me out to a lovely brunch)

The Eyes of Youth

Sweet sky and sun that seem

to reach through covering

of stern belief holding youth 

to black or white or sometimes 

gray of doubt. Unlock his mind 

to find its own young simple way.

His genes are good, his aims
are high, he needs to be released 

to try, and if he falls

it only adds to his resolve

to try again. Some say 

it is our failures that teach us 

to be strong. I only know 

there is a special haunting look

of dreams in his young eyes

a straightened back of courage

and grip of reason in his hands.

He will do well 

if he can make more good choices 

on his own.

Sea-Laughter

To the sea, to the sea

who is a laughing maid

carelessly 

tossing the froth of her 

wanton lips 

 upon the thirsty sands.

To the sea, to the sea

who is a flaunting maid 

madly

sweeping voluminous skirts of foam

across the lustrous rocks 

sunset-toned..

I am of the sea

caught in its beating peaceful monotony 

I am of the sea

and its endless breadth of shores 

and its path of quiet tide 

where cooled flesh slumbers 

with shadowed dreams 

and distant horizons.

(photo was taken in Newport Beach, CA.
a heavenly place to be)

Silence is for Listening

There are songs to be heard in silence! 
Melodies interweaving the pensive quietude 
psalms of fruitfulness and harvest to come
proclaiming life beneath the canopy of winter 
the river's mystic lament for freedom 
where bold canyons contain  its breadth ...

Once I felt the eloquence of a joyful hymn
seeing a doe in silent vigil over her fawn ...

I have heard anthems ascending mountain heights 
and Brahms Lullaby in a somnolent valley.
The songs in silent interludes! To hear them
is to banish loneliness from our solitudes.