Category Archives: poetry

I take a deep breath

I take a deep breath
and slowly
ever so slowly
let it go.

I feel it seeping
into my flailing limbs
coursing through my doing
bubbling through my brain.

It is content
to distribute itself as it pleases
to go where it wants
at its own pace.

No anxious breath has this capacity. 
No! that breath screams to be released.
Forces its way out.
Gasps for more.

This breath is not that breath.

This breath is patient,
content with its status.

This breath makes no demands
except, as it were,
when it has run its course,
and has supplied my need.

And now I need another.

This deep breath 
exits slowly
without fanfare
making way for the next.

I do not thank this breath
do not consider its significance
its magnificence
its wonder.

I simply take another
and another
as if I was made for this
and it for me

As if it would go on forever
as if I would.


Taking Stock @ 60

In our first 20 years, we're training.
In our second 20 years, we're aiming.
In our third 20 years, we're claiming, then
In our fourth 20 years, we're naming.

So, taking stock here @ 60, here's what I see
when I take a closer look at the one who is becoming me.

I'm a writer-downer, a recorder,
a summarizer and reporter.
A gap-filler, a needs-meeter,
On my best days, a finisher-upper.

Not a leader, really, not a future-seer,
nor a risk-taker or a way-maker.
More of a sag-wagon driver,
or a street sweeper.
But don't mistake me for a late-sleeper.

I'm a puzzle-doer, program coordinator,
A lost-finder, a good looker,
Avid practicer, not perfecter
I'm a ducker, mostly not a hitter.

More of a guest than a hoster,
A preparer, not a roaster,
I'm a greeter. Really, a welcomer,
Sketcher, chalker, and avid walker.

I'm a waiter and a seer
A fan and a cheerleader,
supporter, and attender
Challenger and contender.

Call on me as cleaner-upper,
A problem solver, a self-starter.
Yes, a spell checker and self-editor.
Explainer and a moderator.

Investigator, question-asker.
A tender and sharer, an appreciator.
Both doer and undoer.
A go-er and come to-er.

On Sunday I'm a pew-sitter,
an enthusiastic hymn singer.
Both practitioner and preacher,
an unfolder and a teacher.

Call me thinker, ponderer? you bet
A poet-er, yes, a poetess,
Also, a poet-mess
But I dare not be poemless.

I'm just a scribe, really a scribbler.
Get it all down before I forgit 'er
A builder, not a demolisher
scratcher of surfaces, dedicated looker under-er.

I'm a gatherer, not a hunter,
A convener, rarely a punter.
A playmaker, deal-breaker,
a truth-teller, reader and discover-er.

Def an un-waster, collector and keeper.
A news consumer and a news creator.
Only occasionally am I a spectator.

What I will be, we will see
Glad I'm still growin' at sixty.

Beauty under the foliage

Some people are just showy. They strut their stuff and it’s good. No matter what they wear, it draws attention. And whatever they do, it’s news. They are the trend-setters. All eyes are on them. And they revel in the limelight. The good gaze of an adoring and appreciative audience.

My beautiful hydrangea is one of these. Watering can in hand, I marveled as I approached the plant to give it a drink. How glorious its blooms shone in the rise of the morning sun. The lavender luster of the largest stole the show.

As I drew closer, a smaller, pinker display invited me to look. Not yet fully bloomed, this pink one had potential. The water droplets on its delicate petals winked at me. Just wait, they seemed to say, we’re gonna be gorgeous.

As I drew nearer to give the stems a drink, I noticed a burgeoning floral bundle I had nearly missed. Its bushy lavender petals were mostly hidden from view by the lush greenery. Only when I pulled them aside could I appreciate its beauty. It wasn’t hiding; it was just happy to be beautiful under the foliage. Away from the bright sun. As if it had chosen not to compete with its showier siblings.

It was in full bloom. Stunning in its beauty, yet happy, right where it was. Doing its right thing.

Oh, to be satisfied with that.

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