Denim in Autumn

Love the cozy feeling
of slipping on
a pair of jeans
for the first time
after a hot summer.

written September 2, 2025

With Hope to Enjoy Them

These moments:

fond flowers
in memory’s vase.

written August 14, 2025

Along a Walk There Was a Bush in Bloom

Along a walk there was a bush in bloom—
This flowering, the second of the year.
The color brightened nature’s sunny room—
Plus me!—as summer’s cloak I also wear.
Some say to be reborn one has to die,
But here in summer’s robust strength and green
Appear new blooms held up against a sky;
My mid-life body sees this flourishing,
And thinks, Perhaps for change one need not die—
Instead one finds a good way to restart:
Sincerely will I grow beneath that sky
With my resources of the mind and heart,
And with a prayer, begin myself again
And bloom within a summer mind of green.

written August 1, 2025

This Moment Too

At some point the task
becomes less about making
everything better, and more
about learning to better enjoy.

Outside, insects sing
in the thick August night,
here where suburbia
nestles against wild forest.

It reminds me 
of lush evenings
in my childhood.

I tell myself,
this moment, here, is enough.
You are enough.
It’s okay to accept this beauty.

written August 11, 2025

Generative

A ray of light
    Shined in his room—
Seemed so bright
    Within that womb.
I think he might
    Leave it soon—
World of light,
    Sun and moon.

written July 26, 2025

What We Are Given

What do birds on wing
sense of air’s wild currents?
Are there gaps,
are there lifts,
that affect the ways
the birds flow through the air?
​
The currents of living
are not always smooth
but we must not deny
a set of wings
to navigate it well.

written July 23, 2025

On a Beach in His Mind

Lost in Spirit’s land
Looking for direction,
He is offered a hand
To help with introspection.
He notices the plan
Doesn’t call for perfection—
But drawn in some sand:
Beauty’s reflection.

written June 10, 2025

Proper Read (A Book Came in the Mail)

Small in size, a book of poetry,
bound up, stiff and tight, by the spine,
was brittle beyond its thirty years.
I opened it, and it split,
and I became careful, reading it
partly open. But that’s no way
to read a book, so I opened it wide,
without regard. Sections began
pulling away from the paper spine,
pages relaxed and fell away from each other
along the seam. My tightly wound book,
part by part, page by page, let go and relaxed.
I think I will keep the pages together, loosely.

written June 17, 2025

Refreshed

I’m trying to get my mood right
before I get to the forest
but when I get to the forest
my mood will get right.
And so I get to her
with my dusty house of mind,
and she opens
the drapes and windows,
and lets sunshine in with raw air.
She hands me a broom
and a new day begins.

written July 3, 2025

The Sleeping Trees

friends of the same earth
bear the winter well
​
patiently
​
allowing snow to gather
upon their bareness
​
resting
​
in a white mosaic
that will only last as long
​
as the wind doesn’t blow
as the air remains cold

written early 2014

Day Three of Heavy Heat

It’s hot and humid
here on the East Coast.
Thank goodness for AC,
but staying inside leaves me feeling cooped up.
Tired and lethargic, I drowse on the couch
with a book of Japanese poems,
my thumb marking the page.
Eyes still closed,
I awake from sleep
and wiggle my thumb to know
that the book is still there.

written June 25, 2025

Opening to Hope

I think back
To something that was intractable,
And how, despite that “fact”
Something else became possible.

Although hard to believe
In details changing, per se,
Perhaps I may still leave
Room for a better day.

written April 22-23, 2025

A Duck

I see, down below
A duck alone on the pond,
And I feel a sort of bond
Over this way we both know:
A solitary way we go—
On he goes, and on,
Quietly paddling around the pond,
Adding ripples to the flow.
Then he takes to flight,
And flaps his winged beauty
Up even with my eyes,
Before lifting above the tree tips’ height.
Be well, solitary—
May you go well and thrive.

written May 5, 2025

Let Go That Weight

A mourning dove preens herself
on the shingled roof.
Rainwater still on everything.
Out on the balcony, the morning light
is sturdy. I can no longer
think I’m a perfect
person somehow being
imperfect. No, simply:
I’m struggling. I don’t know
how to do this. But I
am part of this sunny,
cool, rainwater morning.
And perfectionism, a weight
to be placed down.

written May 18, 2025

For a Tough Morning

Bare trees do
Turn to leaf,
And this bitter thing
Will grow to be sweet.

written May 17, 2025

To Uncover

It’s this
biting wind that moved
the clouds
to uncover
the sun.

written December 3, 2021

Seeing Through

I tend toward
    Little boxes in my mind
To sort and store
    The life things I find.

Just a theory, still—
    It feels apparent.
What would happen
    If the cubes turned transparent?

May 8, 2025

Came a Certain Past Thing

Today the past came not to haunt
Or play with some old sense of want—
I now reflect with spirit’s wings
So as to want no different thing.

written May 2, 2025

Lightly

Out on the balcony
My feelings are good.
My feet are bare, and warmed
By the sun-warm wood.

I’ve got rice in the cooker,
Tempeh in the tray,
And thoughts of a coffee shop
I’ll make it to some day.

Across town the early blossoms
Are blinking into bloom;
The air supports bees and birds
In nature’s open room.

People, too, move around
Within this space, lightly—
Spring can be delicate,
But its effects, mighty.

written April 28, 2025

Giving It Space

Heavy thoughts weigh on me,
But let’s just wait to see
What comes of sadness, let be,
And not pulled into negativity.

written April 11, 2025