Life’s journey can be hard, and aging has a way of chipping at my stately Tower. Yet, the scent of green country air in the morning, the fragrance of flowers on Mother’s Day– then, the stern lines across my face soften and fade away. I reflect on the restful sounds of children and my children’s children, playground swings and fishing trips. Evan the soft sensation of soapy bubbles against weathered hands is a pleasant feeling. And the soft feel of puppy fur against my face brings comfort to my weary age-ed mind and cranky disposition and life is good again.

Boy Meets Girl

In the tale of boy meets girl,
comes the chase, the pursuit, the dance,
the rollercoaster ride,
of does she, will she, maybe. 

Then the coy
hello, goodbye. 

Needing to go,
and wanting to stay. 

Somehow, hoping dreaming wishing,
and the looking into
soft pools,
and longing
for the un-spoken
to be heard. 

The deep delightful banter,
the smiles that ensue.
of not so wondrous words
hoping for a meaning to come thru.   

It’s fun to watch.
So much harder when it’s you. 

Toward the end
I wonder,
will he,
ever get the girl?
Even though he likes her,
does he get her? 

If not,
He’s really,
not for her.





Tis The Season

Bell ringers, well-wishers. 
Silent nights 
Holy nights 
bright lights, red green and white. 

Time to reflect,
on our level of giving,
our level of a sharing. 

Time to count the flakes of goodwill.
Are they flurries or snow showers?

Time to see if the weather of our generosity and kindness
are small wisps of dry snow, 
that swirl like tiny cyclones hurriedly by
along the cold callous concrete. 

Or are they generous deeds, 
laden with kind words
that stretch out like thick blankets of snow
that protect the seeds in need that lie below. 

There to protect the tender things that lie beneath,
the things not always seen.
The things that need to flower, 
if spring is kind,
if we are kind, 
and both arrive in time,
to help the blossoms bloom. 

Faithless Creature of Infidelity

I trapped a cocoon in a jar.
I pretended not to know 
that what would hatch
would one day roam. 

With wings extended it raced 
with the rhythm of an anxious heart, 
It flew in search of something new. 
It found a garden flower,
and danced on every petal.  

Faithless creature of infidelity
It sought the nectar of another.  

The thirst was not content,
It moved on and sought another. 

Once the thirst for new was done—
Its home to nestle in my arms. 

Remorseless little creature,  
How long will I succumb to charms? 


When I Am Laid To Rest

When I am laid to rest—
            Where I go doesn’t matter.

It’s where I’ve been—that kept me up.
            Will I be remembered at my passing?  

Did I give meaning to life?
Did I create laughter?  

Did the fragrance of flowers fill my senses—
and not just the room of mourning? 

Did the hurts I caused—
find healing?   

 Did I hear the answers to these questions—
            Or was it late. 

 Will someone ask—why? 
             will they know—
                        what my answer might have been?  

Were my eyes—
              filled with wonderment?
Will they know life’s quota—
               was less than I desired?
                         That life was insufficient—
                                    to quench my thirst.  

 If not—the fault was mine.  

 In the end—
               it needs to be known,
I did not wish to go!
               I only longed to stay! 

 Do not be saddened—
               It’s a testament to you
                          that I wished to stay.