Her green eyes
look askance at the kibble these days;
a cancer grows on her hip.
Beautiful Bella, diva of ample figure,
is dwindling now
toward her next incarnation.
I can count every vertebra
through the long shiny hair
as I brush her softly each day.
She asks nothing of me
but a hug and a cuddle
and a familiar hand
to scratch behind her ears.
She doesn’t understand
the splash of a tear from my eye
to her back. She turns slowly
to lick it away. It is a burden
she doesn’t wish to bear.
Early morning … predawn.
December rain is falling.
The wind is murmuring;
I try my hand
It’s hard to follow
the conversation. Truly
an outsider, I listen
hoping to learn.
No stars light the darkness,
there is no sun. The moon
cedes dominion to haze.
A plane makes a statement with contrails…
all nonverbal communication.
There seems to be a plan in place.
The participants seem to understand it.
Everything is quiet, calm.
Maybe we should stick to pantomime.
It’s the verbal that causes trouble.
The wind is whispering sweet nuthins’
to the trees. They nod complicitly.
I can only guess
at the conspiracy.
The rain, soft and misty,
is clearly speaking but its sound
is absorbed by the thirsty earth.
I assume they speak of peace.
A sudden whoosh proves
I misunderstood the calm before the storm.
Seems everything has its cost. That’s the trouble
with translation; so much of the nuance
There was a holiday.
If it was about the turducken, it failed miserably.
It was definitely dry. Someone is always trying
to outdo; someone is exhausted from the trying.
Still the hills are shining,
coated lightly with shimmering ice.
The season is a master of both brilliance
In this moment of reflection,
there is no question that we are left lacking.
God is forgiving but there is a limit.
On the other hand,
if everyone made the right decision about mass
or the midnight sale,
The gross national product
might fail. Madison Ave would lose all its perks.
Hmm, that might work.
There was a holiday;
the tinsel is tangled and spent. Some of the twinkle
lights have burnt out. The tree is a little worse
But the night is calm and clear.
There is a sense of peace, an awareness that
for all we get wrong, we understand a baby was born
and that changed everything.
is not ready to give up
the glitter of Christmas, the scent of pine,
the sight of red velvet bows
soft against balsam.
Deck the Halls!
We did and now we admit
to a moment of regret,
Not for the presence
of holly and mistletoe or the angel,
beginning to frazzle but free
from the fear of heights.
The quiet is appreciated. The new
memories made are celebrated.
There is an air of contentment.
Leave it up, or take it down?
We struggle with the options offered
as we pause in this space
In the autumn of intention
when the senses seek but rest,
When we pause to count our blessings
and know that we are blest,
In the purple haze of twilight
as day pauses at the brink,
I am almost overwhelmed
by the dishes in the sink.
How come when there’s a party
the dishwasher’s always
on the blink?
And what about the sweeper
with its mile-long warranty?
Seems it doesn’t cover
a general lack of energy.
Then there’s that adorable kitten
turned cougar in a day,
It’s somewhere in the Christmas tree
hidden fast away.
The darling little terrier
that I love as my own kin
has claimed my favorite chair
and will not let me in.
I am thankful for the bounty
of friends and family dear
and thankful that such celebration
only happens once a year.