All day a thick rain
thunders from the darkened sky;
the dogs hide inside.
Pigeons coo, “What’s up with you?”
as the rain begins to wane.
(April 30, 2026)
Category: nature
-
It’s the lopsided charm
of this day’s superlatives—
the shortest day,
the longest night,
which for millennia
provided power
to the metaphor
for hope to console us
with heavenly promise
that peace will return
as easily as morning light
washes over dark stone.
(Winter Solstice, December 21, 2025)
-
another bleak day
what autumn color there was
has returned to brown
(December 2, 2025)
-
The rabbit nibbles
fresh clover through the spring day.
The dog’s ears prick up.
(April 9, 2025)
-
Summer’s heat hangs thick.
Doves coo through a slow afternoon,
hotter earlier each day.
Beyond shade’s cooler edge,
lizards hunt their prey.
Doves coo through a slow afternoon—
the long heat’s mourning.
(June 8, 2024)
-
Clearing to a light blue sky,
an early morning wind storm
blows away the humidity
that has hung thick
and foreboding in the air
these last few days of May.
Nearby, a humming bird hovers
quickly about the red canna lilies,
then flits away on a new mission
across the Indian Paintbrushes
and Bee Balm swaying casually
in the meadow out back.
Oblivious, the dogs sleep in the sun.
While softly above their heads,
honey bees and bumble bees
float along the pinkish white
flowers of the Chaste tree
which bloomed overnight.
(May 28, 2024)
-
From the back porch,
with a few winter evenings left,
a small flock of starlings,
perhaps three dozen or so,
murmur quickly above the trees,
turn above the park
as in a parting gesture,
and vanish without a trace.
Aching from yard work,
no matter how small,
I sit on the back patio
and slowly dissolve into the sky,
where the moon follows the sun
into the west trailed by Venus.
(March 13, 2024) -
two nights in a row
the cat drops a rabbit
dead on the back mat
her throat ripped openbits of fur float in the wind
her body still warm
the cat proudly purrsas she curls around my feet
I did this for you
I push her awayunceremoniously
dismissing her kill
each moment deserves our trusteach moment’s a sacrifice
(November 11, 2023)
-
The setting sun graces the trees
at the back edge of the yard.
Time means less than it once did.
The shadows across the grassmirror the trees’ branches
stretching toward the sun.
Here is where metaphorshould shift the light
turning a key like a prism.
Yet, there is no reflectionin the dusk, only a foreshadow
of an unforgiving night,
where all transgressions are calledto account as leaves fall like stars.
(June 8, 2023)
-
With a late autumn
wind, a burr oak leaf flutters
gently to the ground.
(October 20, 2020)
-
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey” (66)
a grey cat twitches
her tail in the grass
.
who has time
to listen
to a sparrow’s
stressed twit-twit
from a tree
(June 19, 2020)
-
Spring belies the fear
The birds flit from tree to tree—
Not enough bourbon(I know this makes light of a deadly virus. It was a result of a work related thread of haikus. I liked it enough)
-
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey” (42,43)
everyday today
flowers bloom
.
.
fortune
a rose lies
crushed
in the wheel’s
rut
(March 22, 2020)
-
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (7)
as the creek flows past quick
minnows mouth my fingers
(January 7, 2020)
subtext 