Doors


Whatever we expect from it,
every door 
shares the same threshold:
the unknown.

We see it for how it’s framed—
by hopes or concerns.

Three hundred sixty-five—
spaces on a calendar year
keep one planning,
guessing,
hopeful and worried,
hopeful and worried.

Time’s book,
we read just a portion,
try to 
glimpse ahead.
What’s to come?

All we can do is go line-by-line,
braving the unknown,
each turning page
like the opening of a door.




            .

(more…)

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Two-word poem

Of light and dark

Gaze of Time and Distance

Engineering

Wonder

Wild Mustard

Transition

Yes

Change

Spring

Vibrant

1-P1970989

 

A lone leaf,
unnoticed
when among others on the branch,
appears vibrant here—

remarkable enough
to stop one in their tracks.

 

 

 

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Optimism


Sometimes . . . 

fog rolls in,
obscuring our view—

and we wonder . . . 

what’s ahead?

We can’t read the signs,
so, for a while . . . 



we just follow the lines,

or maybe others along the way. . . 

while optimism keeps us going,

expecting a clearing

someplace     just      ahead.

 

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Doors (a poem)



Nocturnal navigation—
dream’s doors
blowing open and shut,
flapping madly
like bedsheets on a line
between waking and sleep—
omens of change.

 

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Written in response to a
 three word prompt:
madly, nocturnal, omen.

 

 

 

 
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Phone Trapeze



A friend is calling
on a stand-still-day.
What can I say
when words feel out of reach?
I answer—
we chat—
finding words and assurance
like trapeze artists

who find each other’s hands.

– –

A telephone call
on a leaping-ledge day
from a listening friend—
when conversation’s
aerial pendulum
breaks in mid-sentence
into drawn-out laughter—


a spread of net beneath.

 

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Response to a prompt that asks about time spent apart from a favorite person.

 

 
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Variations on a Cloud

cloud branching

One person sees a cloud and feeloptimistic it’ll pass—
“let there to sunshine”.

cloud branching

Someone else sees the same cloud and feels optimistic it’ll build—
“let there be rain”.

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Nature, in its own time, balances and gives to each and all.

 

 

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Holding


All others lost to early frost,
the last summer violet
    curls,
as if to hold
    its color,
    its scent,
    its season.
 

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Having no photo of a flower at hand,  this rolled paper sitting on my desk took its place. Notice how an idea or image can enliven your perception of other things? Isn’t that what draws us to art?

 

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Calculating . . .

Under the Peel

1-1-P2600490 orange c


The future under the peel,
the juice in each capsule


sealed,
released, revealed—


sweet and tart—

squeezed into a moment

and in how we look back

    remembering the vibrant
    unpeeled orange

and in how we forget

    the peeling
      the taste,
        the satisfaction.


.

 

 

 

 
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Charcoal

Charcoal on the grill
crumbling cool grey,
charred, ashen, fragile,
concealing
fierce-fired
ferocity.

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Written in response to the January 9th
 two-word prompt (tranquil, ferocity) at SenseWrds on Twitter (where you’ll find more micropoetry).

 

 

 
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Mirage of the Blues

 

Simmering summer
slab of asphalt highway—
shimmering mirage—
dangling dream—
drought-drawn line—
pressing into sky blues,
melodic lines,
wailing in harmony
with unseen cloud.

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Written in response to the January 7th
 three word prompt (mirage, dangling, harmony) suggested by the hostess of  SenseWrds on Twitter.   Check it out if you like micropoetry! 

 

 

 
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