Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte

Haiku: Winter Portrait

Dead leaves cling to bough
Silhouettes against pale sky
Tatters of Autumn


Haiku: Weather Amnesia

Tarp covering pool
Lounge chairs stored for the winter
Declare summer’s end

Yet hard to believe
Squirrels still gathering acorns
Fall sunshine beams warmth

Not a bad trade-off
Bright colored leaves and white snow
Will come in due time


Haiku: Fall House Cleaning

Muse has been drowsing
Beneath life’s daily matters
Awakening now

Cleansing rain falling
Breezes create refreshment
Words begin to stir

Family heart work
Enters time of fruition
Now space for my soul


Haiku: Absentminded

Oak tree has acorns
Season must have gone haywire
August still ahead


Haiku: Fickle Spring

After Sunday’s snow
Morning sets fluffy white clouds
Afloat in blue sky


Haiku: Just Picture It

Winter’s winding down
Tiny buds adorn the trees
Birds are building nests

Cover’s off the pool
Dirty water visible
Mind’s eye sees sun screen


Writing 101 – Summer Decamped Today

I first heard the scraping
Iron chairs against concrete
Patio furniture moving toward winter
Protected in storage from frigid blasts.

Then down came umbrellas
Graceful tents over tables
Shields from bright sun rays
Where families shared picnics.

Our pool-side table
Under the oak tree
Summer scene of our word games
Was not spared from the march.

All put away in a few hours time.
Apartment management had given notice
Today was the sad day
That the pool would be closed.

They removed the ladders
For entering and exiting
Floated on the water
Three large inner tubes.

Not for the children’s play
These tubes bob all winter
Under the surface of tarp
Spread over water.

Tomorrow morning I’ll look from my window
Remember the joy the swimming pool brought.
Although the tarp is a beautiful blue
It’s a pale imitation of the real thing.


Writing 201: Poetry – Ballad -Wintry Duel

Below zero. The morn’s frigid, ice everywhere.
Jack Frost has been at it – his art our despair.
Lacy ice tracings bring us to our knees
Engines struggle to turn over when it’s -15 degrees
Below zero.

High noon. Bright sunshine warmth becomes recompense.
Strong brilliant rays deliver defense.
Icy powers of Jack Frost let go, soon melt away.
No matter how sparkly his art holds no sway at
High noon.