Faraway, on this chilled morn
daylight is still sleepy
yet, I turn the light on in my soul
listening to her mysteries

Chasing along open pastures
I write down hints of a nightdream
their intimate symbolic gestures
helps me to see life’s meaning

Into the sound of authenticity
this space elucidates a clear preciousness
of a smoothly said stillness
a fond fertile fortitude

I feel gratitude rise up
with the union of my singleness
a partnership with me
a recognition mixed with gentleness

And yet, when I daydream, there’s a twinge
one that curls around my shoulders
and dips down, deep inside
to…

One afternoon, on a late walk, these words came to me: “The more we try to walk into the light, the bigger our shadow grows.”

Then I thought, we can’t be real if we only share what’s going well. What if we shared a little more of what’s going wrong to normalize how we aren’t perfect but beautifully real.

It is hard to be ourselves. We are told not to feel too much and to toughen up. “Don’t take it personally” is another adage flavored with condescension and minimizing one’s sensitivity.

What if you do take it personally and feel…

Autumn is the ideal navigator
a pilot of sorts
welcoming the ability
to see and hear colors better.

Seems those scarlet jeweled leaves
compliment the persimmon ones
with round holy hums.
I tremble with glee.

Even with my eyes closed
succulent simmering amber hues dazzle me
with the sounds of their tiny flaxen bells.
Its enchantment hypnotizes me.

I favor these honey brown-toned days
because I’m pulled closer to my soul’s lineage.
There’s less light. It grows rest softer
and the sun sets easier.
Crispier nights add a spotlight
to the awe of imagination and her insights.

How my sweaters…

My pace softened under a blue sea sky
and the clouds became whitecaps
while the browns and greens grew gloriously
turning the land to a wild bed of kelp

I held my own hand
and wrapped silence around my heart
pressing each footstep
into a cadence seeking hope

Within a mile, I released a hard held breath
and instead of rain, a gentle smile came
seasoned with the blue sky’s allure
I was embraced by something more

Swallowing gulps of children’s laughter
watching the wheels of a passing stroller
hearing the spokes of a bike spin
this very life pulled me back to…

A late summer sun speaks softly
with shadows for us to see
these moments
lingering lushly over languid layers
whispering
into the speed of summer’s slipping
even pinecones notice the gentle hum

The medicinal quality of cooler days
unfold a cloud speckled mountain top
and the dust settles quieter
next to a mouse’s twitching whiskers
uncertain at the chilly breeze
who scampers underbrush
weaving its way through tall brownish grasses
pressing its tiny footsteps
into summer’s end and autumn’s birth

The once exhilarating lavender is bent and spent
now greyish purple florets graze the tired earth
its sleepy idleness still feels like…

Morning has broken
stillness reigns in gray flannel
birdsong has halted

Summer’s edges frayed
pull a comforter closer
faded seed heads sway

Nature’s transition
an invisible concourse
lush leaves turn ruby

No one hears the grief
it’s accepted as innate
a pure life cycle

Balanced with changes
soft and harsh are congruent
as if true lovers

The seasons elope
poignant sky to grazing land
meeting salty seas

Humming whales gather
dreamt by imagination
welcome summer’s end

Solemn tones held true
sensed golden summer’s edges
changes can feel blue

A special thank you to Galit Birk, PhD, editor and owner of…

Under a sheet of slate-gray clouds
the wheat-colored grasses met the sky
poetry is birthed in these very moments

When stillness is tasted
as our soul-buds merge
with a spiritual sensation

Void of manmade gods
such as most religions
inside a 4-walled abbreviation

Poetry supersedes such principles
and becomes
the archetype of one’s soul

Poetry is often succinct
because each word holds
mountains, rivers, and skies

There are oceans of passion
while a poem sees all sides
of an orgasmic translation

Felt by the bridges we’ve walked
and those to be walked
uncovering the depth from inside

These poignant pieces…

It wasn’t unusual to visit cemeteries as a child. My grandmother would ask me to join her to locate the tombstones of her dead family members.

She’d said, “Carrie Mae, your eagle eyes are better than mine.”

And off we’d go in her brown ‘76 Chevy Nova. Her car had a distinct smell of stale mothballs.

If I was lucky, she’d let me hold her pocketbook on my lap, which meant I could peek inside. Have you ever had the opportunity to explore a bottomless vinyl handbag? I swear it was endless. Tiny pockets lined the sides, and there were…