Saturday, July 19, 2025

A fond farewell


As I say farewell to this special place, 
I take a photograph of these, 
The first of its flowers to greet me 
And the last to see me go, 
Knowing, as one does, with photos, 
That I’ll catch sight of them 
When I’m scrolling through the memories 
And smile, remembering the birds nest 
That was there when last I came: 
Each time, a gift, as if to say 
That we are always welcome here, 
And the house is as happy to have us 
As we are to rest within its walls. 
Can’t wait to come again!

Friday, July 18, 2025

Morning after blues


Lying in bed in the morning 
Remembering dinner the night before, 
Worrying… 
Does everyone do this? 
Analyze the subtle cues 
We may have missed in last night’s gathering? 
Wonder if we talked too much or too little, 
Said something wrong or laughed too loud 
Or failed to include someone in the conversation… 
As light slowly fills the room I raise the blinds. 
The haze that drifts over the mountain 
Has already faded away by the end of this poem, 
But the unease lingers.

Thursday, July 17, 2025

I wish I knew


I wish I knew 
Where good paintings come from; 
Could tap automatically into that source — 
Not because I hope to have something to sell, 
But because it would be nice to trust 
That when I put my brush to canvas 
The results will make me smile…

Wednesday, July 16, 2025

The course of history


Like this stellars jay, 
Examining the lawn for potential food, 
We look back over our past, 
Hoping to find the roots of our behaviors, 
Both personal and communal: 
The mistakes our parents may have made, 
The choices we made, raising our kids, 
Historical events that might — or should — 
Have been handled differently; 
Rules we should have made 
Or shouldn’t have broken — 
All the things that brought us here, 
To Now, this moment, where we sit, 
Staring out at nothing, 
Worried about what’s going down 
 And wondering how to change
The course of history.

Tuesday, July 15, 2025

Denied access


Inside, looking out at the gift of a beautiful day, 
My heart aches for all the people 
 Who are outside, looking in; 
Unwelcome and excluded; 
Denied access to the life every human deserves 
By circumstances not of their own making.

Monday, July 14, 2025

Brief celebrity


The amaranthine campion blossoms, 
Gleaming unexpectedly in the afternoon sun 
Call out from across the broad expanse of lawn, 
And I creep closer, like paparazzi 
 Hoping to catch them drinking 
Or maybe dancing in the light 
Before their evanescent celebrity fades.

Sunday, July 13, 2025

Forgetting


Over time I have forgotten 
That daisies come in several different varieties, 
Some tall, some really short; 
Some that bloom earlier, or later, 
Or show off lots more petals or larger centers 
Than the ones that now are languishing 
Beneath my plum tree 
(Is this their natural cycle, 
To grow brown and lie down, 
As if their backs all hurt too much to stand, 
Or are they dying because I forgot to water them?) 
I’ve forgotten other things as well, 
But would rather have forgotten 
The things that wake me, 
Or still can make me cry: 
Man’s inhumanity to man, woman, and child; 
The yips of the coyotes as they feast;
The shrieks of the forest as it burns…

Saturday, July 12, 2025

Unexpected blessings


A beautiful sunset last night 
Kept me out on the cliff for a while, 
But when I finally turned to come in,
 I could see 
That the flags we strung up to keep the birds 
From flying into our windows echo 
The colors of the sunset; 
That we accidentally found a way 
To bring the joy of color into our lives 
All day long, just by trying to save the birds. 
And isn’t that often true: 
 That in working to protect 
Something other than ourselves, 
We are granted untold, 
 Unexpected blessings?

Friday, July 11, 2025

Day’s end


At the end of the day 
We pause to watch 
The end of the day, 
Drinking in the colors of the sky 
While dreaming and planning 
What tomorrow might bring: 
Its challenges and triumphs, 
Heartaches and opportunities —
As if we could control any of that…

Thursday, July 10, 2025

Your inner landscape


Whatever your outer landscape may be — 
City, or forest; desert, farmland, or sea — 
Your inner landscape’s a choice: serene, 
Or troubled; filled with joy or angry; 
Grateful or vindictive and obsessed 
With revenge… you get to paint that picture. 
What will it look like today?

Wednesday, July 9, 2025

Transforming bitterness


Ours is not the cherry tree 
Whose blossoms glow pink in Spring, 
Or whose leaves provide a maroon contrast 
To the other trees in the garden, 
Nor does its fruit have that cloying sweetness 
That goes so well with chocolate. 
No; these cherries, so ripe and beautiful, 
Are as sour and bitter 
As missing the ferry by a single car 
Or coming in second place, and yet 
They’re perfect for making pies. 
How can we turn our bitterness into 
Sweet pies, and sweeten the world?

Tuesday, July 8, 2025

The path of love


Light weaves a path through these grasses 
As love weaves a path through life — 
The only path we can follow 
 That leads to wholeness. 
We’ll never get there while we’re snarling 
At the souls who blindly chose 
To follow lies and are now too frozen 
By their need to have been right 
To see their way back to the light.

Monday, July 7, 2025

Why, and when?


Given what I have since learned,
I regret my all-too-human urge
To cast blame somewhere 
For the disaster at the Texas camp
Decimated by a flash flood.
Yet still I hold my sobbing daughter 
In my arms and mourn with her
Gazing out into the rain
As we weep together for children 
And parents everywhere:
Such cruel losses; hard to bear.

Sunday, July 6, 2025

Nature’s gift


Awakened early by the summer’s light, 
I rise to greet the mountain 
And her ever-changing halo of clouds.
 I feed the cats, 
Then sit, and watch the foxglove 
Waving in the breeze. 
Whatever else the day brings, 
There’s still this: nature’s gift 
 Of morning.

Saturday, July 5, 2025

When storms threaten


We used to have an inspirational 
 Poster in our office 
 That read “You can’t control the wind 
But you can adjust your sails.” 
But when the storm is clearly threatening 
And the sails are luffing in the wind, 
All that’s left is to take them down and pray 
You won’t get tossed in the rising waves. 
What then? It’s harder to find comfort 
In the sign that reads “This, too, shall pass.”

Friday, July 4, 2025

A hollow Fourth


Happy Fourth seems a hollow wish today, 
When the Declaration 
Of which we were so proud, 
With its statements of equality 
And inalienable rights 
 Is being hideously betrayed, 
And so, we mask our discouragement 
 And march, not for justice, 
But for food, and shared community, 
Loving family, friends, and neighbors 
 As best we can…

Thursday, July 3, 2025

Sleeplessness


Last night, as I was crawling into bed, 
The conversation turned to Alligator Alcatraz.
 I struggled to get to sleep, 
And was awakened early by this poem: 
What kind of culture 
Locks its people 
Up like animals 
Without due process, 
And how can I fight cruelty 
When a poem’s the only weapon in my arsenal?

Wednesday, July 2, 2025

Greeting the day


Awakened by the golden clouds of morning, 
We rise to greet another day;
 Another opportunity 
 To weave a nest of kindness 
In which a troubled world might find relief.

Tuesday, July 1, 2025

In praise of adaptation


Mother Nature as the ultimate recycler: 
Who can create a tree from seed, 
Then grow it tall, 
And when it falls into the sea 
Invert its roots and let them stand 
Upon a beach 
 In solitary splendor, as if to say 
Each phase of life 
Has its own purpose, which evolves. 
Accept, and rejoice in, the change.

Monday, June 30, 2025

When we follow the call


For years, I was known for making and selling Photographs like this one: 
Each morning I’d wake up early, 
To scout out docks with photogenic dinghies. 
But then I became a painter, and mornings 
Became devoted to reading, and meditation — 
An odd way, to be sure, 
Of preparing for the canvas — 
And instead of looking outside myself 
For subjects, 
I looked inward, waiting, hoping, for inspiration; 
For some way to create art 
That might somehow serve 
As a portal to the sacred. 
Despite the challenge, the shift has brought peace, Though I still find that small boats bring me joy.

Sunday, June 29, 2025

Embrace reality


Release your need to be the rose 
You were never born to be 
And accept with joy 
Your full hydrangea-ness: 
Instead of cowering behind 
The protective coverings you’ve grown, 
Allow your fullest self to emerge 
And trust that pale fragility 
Has a beauty all its own.

Saturday, June 28, 2025

Continue on


On those days when all is gray 
And you feel you’re sailing through a fog, 
Be reassured: the sun will shine again, 
And flowers will bloom, and branches 
 That once were bare will feed us 
With their fruit again: 
 The cycle will continue, just as 
 We, too, must continue 
To bear fruit and to bloom.

Friday, June 27, 2025

Garden secrets


The bucks are whispering secrets 
In my garden again, telling tales of domination 
And reassuring one another 
That just because their horns still bear 
The fuzz of spring, it doesn’t mean 
That they are getting soft, it’s just 
That summer has been slow in warming up.
 “But look,” they say,
 “The foxglove and the lavender 
Are at their peak, and soon we will be, too; 
Remember last year?” And they smile, 
Knowing the autumn fruits will soon await them 
In the trees: Plums, apples, cherries, 
 All ready for the taking.

Thursday, June 26, 2025

In gratitude


Today’s my anniversary: 
A year ago today, Prepared for death, 
 I underwent the surgeon’s knife, 
Which opened up my chest 
And my heart to new horizons 
Even as my dear friend sent this photo 
To let me know she was at my house 
To which she was convinced I would return. 
I’m grateful for so much these days: 
For life, for home, for friends and family, 
For my surgeon and all the hospital staff 
Who brought me back to health, 
And for the earth: The sea and sky and land 
That sustain me still in times 
Of fear, darkness and despair 
For all the brokenness in the world.

Wednesday, June 25, 2025

Improvement


An artist friend suggested I get cold wax, 
The kind that works with acrylics, 
And once I had it, I had to ask 
How best to use it, and he said, 
“Take a painting you’re not happy with, 
Mix the wax with colors not in the painting, 
And cover it up, then scrape it through 
 To expose what’s underneath,”
And so I did, and here it is. 
And now: is there a way to do this 
That could make the world a better place?

Tuesday, June 24, 2025

The path of grace


This is a path 
We and our neighbors 
Walk most every day; 
A simple choice that adds to fitness 
And guarantees we’ll meet and greet, 
And pet each others dogs 
And know, beyond our differences, 
 We all have things in common — 
The steps we take to climb the hill, 
The air we breathe, the need to rest, 
Concerns we share -- if only about pets -- 
And so we leave the chairs here 
For anyone who needs them, 
That they might find 
A space to chat or simply be: 
Grace and goodwill, 
 The lessons we once learned 
In church on Sundays.

Monday, June 23, 2025

No escalation


She greets us, standing here in fields of gold, 
Trusting, though we know she has probably 
Destroyed some of our plants, 
That we’ll not decide to escalate this battle 
And attack her or her children. 
We’ll stay on this path, agreed upon 
As the ideal way to proceed, 
And she has stepped aside to let us pass: 
No money spent, no missiles launched, 
And no hard feelings.

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Echoes of devastation


Do you see how the daisies 
 Echo the cloud above them?
 Earth is not unaware 
That somewhere far away 
 The smoke from bombs is drifting overhead 
And echoing the devastation that lies below

Saturday, June 21, 2025

Migrants welcome


It’s raining, and the English lavender 
That emigrated unexpectedly 
 Into my garden this year 
Is glittering with clinging drops of water. 
I’m not sure why it chose this spot: 
There are several other varieties 
 Of lavender nearby; 
You’d think it would join with them 
Instead of hanging with 
 The also renegade foxglove, 
But the hummingbirds, 
Who ignore the fancier lavenders, 
Love this one, and spend hours 
Drinking from all its tiny cups. 
I’m not planning to call ICE: 
I like having these guys around.

Thursday, June 19, 2025

Without diversity


I’ve been reading this morning 
About the advantages of diversity; 
How bringing different minds 
And life experiences together 
Enhances the likelihood 
 Of creative solutions and originality, 
And I’m thinking how bland and boring 
Things can be in a like-minded universe. 
How can we make America great 
If there’s no color, no variety 
In our decision-making? 
If everything’s always the same, 
Won’t life seem gray — And maybe even lonely?

Wednesday, June 18, 2025

Who’ll wire us back together?


A year ago, facing surgery,
I watched this hummingbird
Drink from the flowers,
Not knowing if I’d be doing it 
Again a year later. 
I find I’m conscious lately 
Of just how much 
My life has changed since then
And yet how little, in comparison 
To others, who now live in fear 
Of things — ICE, accusation, 
Incarceration, deportation—
That seem much worse to me 
Than death, and so unfair. 
I touch my chest, and feel the ridges 
Where I’m wired back together 
And wonder: who’ll repair my country’s heart 
And wire us back together?

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Painting as prophecy


I never know (or plan) 
What I’m going to paint until it’s painted, 
But this one was even
More of a surprise than usual, 
And yet, upon reflection, it makes sense, 
So I have to wonder: 
Can intuitive painting become 
A sort of reflective prophecy?

Monday, June 16, 2025

A fortuitous fail


Our Fathers Day plans failed to bear fruit, 
For the ferry we drove an hour to catch 
Had been grounded, due to an accident. 
In wending our way slowly home, 
We found ourselves surrounded 
 By fields full of foxglove, 
Rosy and glowing in the afternoon sun. 
Some might think that small compensation 
 For the hours of wasted time driving,
 But in fact it was a glorious gift, 
And we laughed and smiled 
All the rest of the way back home.

Saturday, June 14, 2025

Protesters


Emerging from their cone of green, 
The thin vermilion trumpets 
Sound their call to action. 
I want to ask who planted you 
In this dense thicket of blackberries and salal, 
Or did you volunteer to shout 
CODE RED to all the passers by, 
Inspiring us to do the same; to stand like you 
Beside the public thoroughfares 
Like signs objecting to injustice; 
Proclaiming your right to live and work there, 
 Orange in a sea of green?

Friday, June 13, 2025

Distractions


This is how my mornings go: 
My cat — when not in my lap — 
Sits in the window across from me, 
 Staring through the screen of volunteer foxglove 
At the bunnies, quail, and butterflies 
 Who frolic just beyond his grasp 
While his sister sits behind me,
 Watching the hummingbirds 
 Who gather at the feeder 
She can see through the sliding glass door, 
While I, distracted by them both, 
And by the deer who wander by, 
Forget to listen for my toast, 
Eventually rising to butter 
Two cold hard slices of bread. 
How can such peace exist 
In a country so at war with itself?

Thursday, June 12, 2025

Butterfly


A simple butterfly, seen through my windshield, 
When I pulled off the road to check my messages; 
A gift in black and white, alighting in the green 
To drink the floral scents: 
Music to my eyes.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Protest poppies


I’m pleased to post a purple poppy picture 
And pen a purple poppy poem (Or prose, perhaps) 
In protest, and to pose the possibility 
 That only poppies and princes 
Are empowered to put on crowns 
Or produce parades whose price exceeds 
 The payments pledged to be preserved 
 By pruning patronage and protection for the poor.

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Such is grace


To find beauty in the wholeness of things, 
Up close, mid-range, and far; 
Past, present, future, 
All that was and is and shall be, 
All combined into 
 This one imperfect gift of a moment: 
Such is grace.

Monday, June 9, 2025

Beauty everywhere


I really do believe there’s beauty everywhere,
Though we can’t always see it.
Little miracles abound: 
I had a teacher once 
Who said just throw a hula hoop 
And then look where it falls,
And somewhere inside the arc it circumscribes 
We would find something photographable, 
Or that could be described 
In a poem, or tell a story. 
Though I outgrew the hula hoop 
My eyes still inscribe those circles…

Sunday, June 8, 2025

UnCivil


Yesterday I was admiring 
These clouds, like smoke, 
Drifting across the sky, 
So peaceful… 
And so my brain was patterned on them
The way that happens for visual people, 
And so, and so, and so, 
When later those photos caught my eye, 
I thought, more clouds, but no! 
Angelenos, protesting these heinous raids, 
And the National Guard, called out again, 
Against our own people — 
Not peace but war, 
UnCivil.

Saturday, June 7, 2025

Confidence


Just as the sunlight singles out 
A random boat, in life 
The spotlight falls on one celebrity 
And then another as time passes.
 All is fleeting, fragile, chance; 
Acceptance or rejection 
Hanging on a thread 
Of mood, or history, or taste — 
So obvious to some 
While others sneer and mock 
The fashion of the moment. 
Confidence must stem 
 From some internal knowing, 
Never the capriciousness of opinion.

Friday, June 6, 2025

Okay to be a rock


Everything I read says it’s okay 
To just be stillness, and silence.
 It’s good, too, of course, to be a prophet,
 Objecting loudly to things as they are; 
To march, or write, on behalf 
Of all the absent kindness and morality —
 I’ve done that, too; 
 Been a voice for change, 
But now it’s okay — Maybe more than okay? — 
To be a rock; 
To let the dark cast its shadows 
And just be calm, solid, 
A stable presence in the shifting light; 
A promise, grounded, earthy, 
That beneath the shadows 
Truth still breathes 
 Quietly.

Thursday, June 5, 2025

Heart like a bird


When silence, like a fog, 
Springs up between us, 
I can begin to detect 
The heart that, like a bird, 
Rests in the branches of your body — 
Fragile, eager, and protective, 
Its wings so strong and capable; 
Always ready to fly to my defense; 
A heart that’s often masked 
In the complexity of your words…

Wednesday, June 4, 2025

So much for AI


I thought I'd write about being a bird, 
So to illustrate the poem,
I typed the word “bird” so AI could search 
The photos on my phone. 
And there, mixed in with the herons, the crows, 
The pigeons, gulls, and finches, 
Was this little guy. 
And then I thought, 
If I climbed a tree, would AI think me a bird? 
If I stood behind an altar, 
Would AI call me a priest? 
And if I sat behind a desk in the Oval Office, 
Would AI assume I was actually presidential?

Tuesday, June 3, 2025

Awash in gratitude


It’s curious: 
That spot in our garden has been empty: 
Just  bark for five years now. 
But suddenly this spring 
 A foxglove forest has sprung up: 
Some white, some pink, some purple — 
So many stalks, with broad leaves at their base, 
Where nothing grew before. 
Though some would claim they’re weeds,
 I find myself 
Awash in gratitude.

Monday, June 2, 2025

Feeding time


On waking, I feed the cats, 
But looking out the window 
I see the bird feeders are empty, 
So I step outside to fill them, 
And at the bottom of the steps 
There stands a doe, her white fur 
Gilded by the morning sun. 
“Hello, deer,” I say, 
And “where’s your little boy?” 
But she won’t tell me where 
She’s tucked him in; Just stands there, 
Waiting patiently while I pour the birdseed in, 
Watching with her trusting eyes 
 Till I go inside to grab a bunch of peanuts 
 And toss them into the grass for her to feast on. 
I cannot feed the world, 
But at least I can feed my gentle neighbors.

Sunday, June 1, 2025

I could be a fig


Today I could be a fig, 
All my creative potential 
Tucked like Adam’s after the fall 
Behind a giant, heavily veined 
Leaf or two 
Or three, 
However many it takes 
To mask my swelling sac of sweetness 
As it grows more taut within its skin, 
Darkening with possibility, 
Fed by all the forbidden knowledge 
Eaten over time, 
Bursting to feed generations…