The Lost Arts


I dreamed there was a gathering. The lost arts took a seat. Placed a napkin in the lap. And called the meeting to order. Poetry took two seats. The head and the other head. While Simplicity, Civility and Kindness bowed  in deference to each other. The conversation was quite and measured. Polite, with hints of disagreement. No two saw the world the same. I dreamed that in this gathering, the bites were small and conversation big. Joy poured the wine without a wasted drop. Stillness and Rest passed plates in a clockwise fashion, because the collective decision was made. Every one agreed. That no one would go hungry. The gathering agreed among themselves to remain seated. And to keep the tenor and the tone at an audible decibel of  Peace and Quiet. Passing plates of simple fare. All guests, who wore the hat of  hosts as well, agreed. In my dream, the sentences were long, unbroken. No interruptions were made. Daydreaming poured more water into each shiny crystal stemware glass. No one said a word when Manners arrived one minute past the agreed on time, in an effort to be fashionably late. The counter punches never came. Neither did the punches. I awoke at midnight. A table cleared and empty. No signs of a gathering at all. The lost arts, lost again in a world of Imagination. Each gone as if they never were here at all. Hidden, perhaps behind a drawn curtain, dark ebony of this Good Night. Yet one shred of evidence remained. A poem. I dreamed there was a gathering.

The Snow Globe

Welcome to Day 13. Thank you for joining me during October for #write31days.


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The Snow Globe


Strange little egg shaped metaphor
Just as the dust settles,
No snow
Frozen tranquility is restored
To your glass sanctuary
Fake flakes fall gently on the plastic turf
Your home’s floor
Photo-shopping beauty
We settle in to a Norman Rockwell-esq
Version of life
Frozen in time and place and space
How perfectly boring you become
With no movement
Living in your glass house
It is when the shaking comes
That the blanket of beauty is laid
The turning of you upside down
And right again
That complex mix of calm and peace and static is restored
The next time
Your perfectly calm snow lined streets
Get wondrously shaken
Again and again
World without end

There in lies the wonder
The beauty
of it all
Globes were meant to turn
And you, little snow globe
A little upside down



Joining Laura today



From Roots To Fruit


From Root To Fruit

I do not recall your Genesis
Your deeply rooted symbolism
In this family
No, only that you matter, greatly

Great big
From stem to stern
Every piece of you
From purple bursts of bulbous fruit
To elephant ears in forest green
To your strength
Dug deep
Held tight
An anchor
Buried well below the nutrient-rich surface soil
Your roots
Arms, limbs long and strong and lean
Bent, contorted
We demand you bend and serve

Oh how you nourish us
We wait on you
Ever hungry for what you give
Season in and season out
Counting on you to bear more
Fruit, sea of reds and pinks
Skin of royal plum
You erupt with life-giving
Sweetness, dripping, seeded honey
Tethered between you and us

We long for you to ripen
Faster, faster
Impatience will not
Spur you on

I do not recall your Genesis
Perhaps because I was too young
A child
And you were there
Before my birth
In the beginning

Dreaming of how you would provide
Different, for each one of us

Releasing ripened fruit
Born while hiding

Behind those elephant ears
Big enough to cover the sins of man

We shall never forget
What you mean

A family deeply in love, are we
With you, we adore you

Beautiful Fig Tree



Joining Laura Boggess for #playdateswithGod

This poem is written for and dedicated to my father on the ocassion of his 77th Birthday. Happy Birthday Daddy.
Thank you for always encouraging me and my poetry.

Ode To Home On The Occasion Of The Possibility of Spring’s Arrival


Ode To Home On The Occasion Of The Possiblity of Spring’s Arrival

You have been a strong and faithful sanctuary
A well wrought port in a storm of endless
Winter polar vortices
Iron maiden made of brick and mortar
Oh yet so much more
Boldly you braced me from the wicked winter winds
Is that now in our past
Is Spring preparing us for windows open
Windex polished and shined for her new day
Reflecting your joy and mine
Like a pair of Easter white patent leather
Mary Jane’s, shiny and new
Party ready to spin and twirl and dance with
Delight in Spring’s New Light
Of Day and Day Light Savings Time

Could it be that in this year of a winter that appears
To you as bully, thief and trouble maker, pot-stirrer and
Rebel rouser
We will have a set change, a character change and a scene change soon
Oh home you and I might live to see another Spring
What color shall be plant the window boxes, bright and gay
I say Pink, you say Red
Geraniums, on that we can agree

How will be celebrate the possibility of Spring’s arrival

You, my home desire the fatted calf killed
And the silver polished
And a fresh coat of paint somewhere on your trim
You are a surviver and a hanger-oner
You took your knocks and rode out the cold
Stood head up, chin up, shoulders back

Fearless are you
Let the seasons change
And let us dress you in all your finery
And regalia
Your day has come to feel the breath of Spring
Blow across your red brick cheek
Spring is here, almost
Hold on tight, hold your breath, hold on to hope
We have nothing to fear but fear itself
Well that and that this could be the first year we skip
Spring altogether and go straight to Summer

But we, dear home
Are optimists
And we shall count on Spring
The Weber Grill and charcoal
Have waited long enough

This poem is written in response to my friends at Tweetspeak Poetry and their prompt Ode To Home”