The window unit hums. I lie on the bed, the coarse cotton spread chafing my bare legs. Unspoken words churn overhead, fueled by their own fury, but the air in my lungs is so still it’s nearly solid. Only the billowing curtain above the a/c shows signs of life. — Photo by me. Detail of home in the Lower Garden District of New Orleans. Continue reading Mistaken
“Learning to let go should be learned before learning to get. Life should be touched, not strangled. You’ve got to relax, let it happen at times, and let others move forward with it.” ~Ray Bradbury Magnolia photo by me. Continue reading Let Go
“we are listening through the longest night we imagine, which dawns between the life and time of stars.” ~ exerpt from We Are Listening by Diane Ackerman Read or listen to this beautiful poem here. Sculpture by Enrique Alferez in the New Orleans Botanical Garden, April 2017 Continue reading Listening
Cool mist on my face I walk without umbrella to feel nature’s breath *** Continue reading NaPoWriMo 23/30: April
When I saw you working in the garden, how tenderly you handled the newly-sprouted plants, the attention you gave to the soil mix, your practiced eye navigating the perfect spot for planting, I knew you were a man mindful of life’s small but necessary details. I knew you were someone with whom I wanted to spend my millions of moments. *** Continue reading Napowrimo 22/30: A Gardening Man
Park Avenue Holding the photo I feel a piece of me transported back to that place, that day. The soft grey and white of an overcast sky, the growl and clang of the street, people hurrying to wherever they’re going, every color of the rainbow in a steady stream of aliveness. The smell of fresh morning coffee from a smiling Turk. The day spread out before us, surprises about to pop. Continue reading Napowrimo 19/30: Park Avenue
I only missed you once, when the kettle boiled and I burned my finger in the steam, you weren’t there to get an ice cube or pour my cup of tea. The empty space is crowded. It’s a lie I tell myself, not in the dead of night, but in the bright white glare of every day since you left. Your empty shoes sit by the back door waiting for the snugness of your toes. I’ve come to realize you walk a trail now I might never find. The empty space is crowded. When I walk the back garden where … Continue reading NaPoWriMo 11/30: Fingers & Toes
Hope Redux Light shakes its starry head, turns to the angel’s eye. Many live in the motion that has just been born. The singular in ourselves refutes death, invents all we know of one another. *** This is a found poem created from the poem “Hope” by Lisel Mueller which I heard recently on The Writers Almanac. Continue reading Napowrimo 10/30: Hope Redux
Six Views of the Bamboo (After Wallace Stevens) I. The gardner marvels at baby shoots as big as her arm. II. The naturalist enjoys the strength of the canes in the wind. III. The environmentalist appreciates its sustainability. IV. The squirrel is thankful for its nest-baring branches. V. The bird surveys the world from its sky-high peaks. VI. The bamboo sways and sighs. The bamboo just is. *** Prompt via napowrimo.net – “write a poem that looks at the same thing from various points of view.” Continue reading NaPoWriMo 6/30: Six Views of the Bamboo
So I wanted to photograph Rose in front of my gloriously blooming amaryllis but she would have none of it. She doesn’t like posing, point a camera at her and she lowers her head or turns her back. She’s too smarty-pants for her own good. Continue reading Friday Pet Blogging: “I will do what I want!”
