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

Ode To A Duck

Oh! Look at you, you web-footed wonder
Sun making brilliant your splendid green helmet.
Parting pond water you glide through the lilies.
Seeking your dinner you turn acrobatic
Head tips under water, tail feathers point skyward
You’ve spied tiny fishes that suit your palate.
You take to the air for postprandial flying
Loudly you quack, sound unmistakable.
You begin your descent to land on the water
Braking, your web-feet send up a spray
Water droplets turned rainbows by slant of the sun.
You swim to shore and waddle away.
Dear Brother Duck, to you a good day.


Ode To the Last Responders

After the quake rips through the earth
Gouging and splintering, leaving for dead
Hundreds of loved ones and home as they knew it.

After the ship falters and sinks
Flinging the desperately fleeing immigrants
Into the sea of no return.

After the plane plunges to earth
Flown by someone bent on destruction
Getting his wish. There are no survivors.

After the brutal devastation and horror
Grief overtakes those still alive
And us the world watching.

Then they appear to pick up the pieces
Like a Greek Chorus in yellow hazmat suits
Or red or white jumpsuits – the last responders.

Assembled to pull us back from the abyss
Bringing a semblance of order to chaos
They harvest the dead to be decently buried.

We do give them honor.


Writing 201: Poetry – Ode – To A Passport

You are my magic carpet, my open sesame.
You lend wings to soar to cities only dreamed about.
You hold keys to doors of other cultures.
Oh, small book, you spread a wide new world before my eyes.

Within your pages are the records
Of all the places I have visited abroad.
You hold records also of my different names and addresses
As I’ve traversed my inner landscape and learned how to be free.