Monday, March 4, 2024

Have pity

My cat supervises 
 The snow-coated raccoon 
 Through a window dripping 
 With wet fallout from the sky, 
Annoyed, as always, 
 To be sharing his kibble with this stranger. 
But how can we not take pity 
On those who are cold and wet 
And without shelter?

Sunday, March 3, 2024

Messengers of the sublime

All nature reaches out to us,
 But we, blinded by our earthly objectives,
 Fail to see 
What lessons might be learned 
From these supposedly inanimate 
Messengers of the sublime.

Saturday, March 2, 2024

Longing to bloom

These days, these cold and wintry days, 
Our sunshine comes, not from the sky, 
But flowers: golden daffodils, 
Who somehow understand it’s time to bloom, 
And lift their lacy heads despite the cold; 
Even the snow cannot restrain 
Their bright exuberance. 
Something within me also longs to bloom, 
But seems content to wait a little longer. 
Perhaps it is a Rhodie, or a rose; 
I pray it won’t decide 
 To wait, like a chrysanthemum, 
 For spring and summer days to fade, 
Until the Fall…

Friday, March 1, 2024

Strange beauty

All nature’s beauty beckons us,
 Inspiring us with her complexity,
 Challenging us with her constant mutability,
 Reassuring us with her adaptability;
Her constancy and endurance.
Shakespeare said it best: like Cleopatra,
“Age cannot wither her, 
Nor custom stale her infinite variety.”

Thursday, February 29, 2024


All night it poured, 
 And poured, and poured again, 
And I would sleep, 
 And wake, and sleep again, and wake, 
 Awakened by the pounding of the rain 
Upon our metal roof — so loud — 
And sleep again, 
 And dream of friends long gone, 
The memories pouring in 
 And leaking out again each time I’d wake 
And check the clock: has morning come at last? 
And when it does, I rise, 
And coffee doesn’t help me to disguise 
The lingering effects of a broken night, 
Or still the relentless sounding 
 Of the rain, the rain, the rain that’s all around us.

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

Morning glory

And then the sun came up, 
To show us how the snow had clung 
To each tree, highlighting 
Their trunks and branches, 
And then inviting their intriguing shapes 
To form a pleasing frame for her beauty.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

Who do we trust?

What the porch light shows 
Will soon be gone — or so we’re told 
By our weather app, which boldly declares 
Our temperature is 38 (it’s really 31) 
And that stuff that’s coming down is really rain 
(It’s not; it’s snow). 
What do we believe? 
 Is it what our eyes are seeing, 
Or what our screens, our sources for all news,
 Propose to tell us? 
Where is truth these days, I often wonder…