Category: Poetry

After a Dog is Gone

It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.- Jim Harrison- The Road Home After…Some days drag on forever and night never comesLeaving me yearning for darkness where dreams live onWhile others slip away… Continue Reading “After a Dog is Gone”

Spring Sunrise

New sunrise-Paints pale horizon with wildflower colorsAnd eastern sky glowsin a meadow of tissue paper clouds Fragrant zephyr stirs waxy emerald leavesWhile spent blossoms slip from thorny lemon treeGrey mockingbird sings from high in the mesquite-As spring arrives dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille #148 Papered… Continue Reading “Spring Sunrise”

Always

“…the sad part is, that I will probably end up loving you without you for much longer than I loved you when I knew you. Some people might find that strange. But the truth of it is that the amount of love you feel… Continue Reading “Always”

#Haibun: Winter Morning

Morning dawns with an icy sculpture in the bird fountain. This oddity happens about once a year here in Mesa when the temperture dips into the low thirties. It is a stark reminder of why we live here as opposed to someplace where it… Continue Reading “#Haibun: Winter Morning”

Evening at the Lake

Day to night, sun to moon and sooncall of the loonacross the lakeleaving a wake Bullfrogs croaking their throaty songsamid the throngsflies dart awaycaught in the fray Shooting stars fall from the black skywe ponder whya hasty wisha swimming fish dVerse Poets Pub: Poetry… Continue Reading “Evening at the Lake”

Raven Dreams

Yes, in the predawn black the slim slip of the waning moon. -Remote Friends, Jim Harrison Darkness before dawn-Jackson stirs from his raven dreamsHis shake tells me it’s time to goI obey for even in the suburbs of the desert,small creatures get eaten by… Continue Reading “Raven Dreams”

Morning Serenade

Shivering leaves in morning breezeas breath forms whispering cloudsQuiet garden is still, creatures asleepunder warmth of fallen dead leaves. Yellow orbs cloaked in waxy greenon the gnarled lemon treewhile high in the lush mesquite,Grey-brown Thrasher sings to dawn. dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille Monday

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