Random Walk

In a field of flowers, blue
she wanders free and rapt,

taking in the fragrant hues-
a path she had not mapped.

Gentle hands reach out to blooms
caressing each in passing

and her random walk resumes
in heaven, without asking.

In the same field, ambles he
who takes a different way-

Spying first the large oak tree
that lingers by the quay,

Stolid-fixed- he moves toward
a vast expanse that speaks-

an oceanside of blue has lured
him to the edge he seeks.

Each, their own entrancement made
as journeys intersect-

She, from wand’ring wood to glade
and he, from larger treks.

Both gone seeking greater things
away from their familiar,

Habitating different strings
yet seeking bonds that whisper.

And there on cliff-side, past the glen
two lovers stood, amore and yen-
led there in divergent ways
and destiny to laud and praise.




it is only this –

a single droning  way,


a backdrop for breathing, luring and lively

all in red or green or blue-

pink  or yellow ribbons that remind us

of someone lost.

it is only this.

a surface, serene and affable

sometimes glowing and thinned

infinite until shattered.

and you step out

bleeding a bit of color

fresh from a palate.

it is only this.





Here I sit, invoking morning’s grace
without a photo to remind me of your face,
I realize each feature in my mind.

The light appears and outlines all the trees
your eyes-they blink, the soul behind them sees
and opens up to me, and then I find

the sky- expanse- turns light from dark to blue.
This advent of your beauty so accrues
and imprints on my memory, all combined.

The subtle pink that sunrise paints a-sky
reveals a blushing temperament, and why
I can’t remember it – in kind.

The flowing chestnut curls that so beguiled
my colored dreams, the shadow of your smile-
they fill my morning view and so remind

me of the gracefulness I laud and rhyme.


Rolling on the floor, a speckled ball of yarn,
chased by cats, and batted back and forth;
’round the chair and wedged so not to budge.

Provocateur, unravel as you will-
the line of thread that travels here and yon-
a serpentine attests your elegance.

A moment’s play- your coil and path supply
diverting pleasure – here and there – unwound
around and ’round the floor you dart.

Between the wall and shelves, in spaces thin
since come to rest – and sameness- yet again
Await to wind and wrap – your future holds

another track, unfurl and ring and flaunt.

I set out to write a sestina this morning – quite a challenge for a Saturday morning- but the word scheme never quite worked out for me. I ended up with this, which has no formality to it, other than 3 line verses and some nice lines, alliteration, and hopefully some back and forth in the poem. I don’t own a cat, but I suspect watching one play with a ball of yarn might be enjoyable. I was thinking that the yarn might get bored easily if all it had to do was be batted around and unwound until it found a resting place – waiting to be rewound and put into play again.


In a variegated way-
it whispers, being
between the green and cerise.
The faint curls into light
The noise and resonant hinge-
lingered ’til the next breathing sound,
upon which it leans
hasty and crimson into
collections of cadence.

And hushed, redemption
mixes with the blushed-
a new shade of stillness.

Poet’s note – Lest someone reading think that I can’t spell. I wrote this, and then couldn’t think of a title. The poem seemed a bit uneven to me, as I attempted blend sound and color and feeling. I’m not sure I achieved any of it. The whole thing seemed very erratic to me…oh wait… a pun. Great idea.


the mystery that drives and weaves
and captures all she feels and grieves-
inward lies her heart perfecting
both her days and nights, dissecting
with a tiny mirrored hand-
her sphere, it grows -afflicts the strand
which twines and knots and preys alone
and none will notice, deftly sewn
just like auroras, bold and lithe
she wanders – spreads – abates in sight.


As for me,
when Cecilia sings –
the brightened notes
awaken the spring.

Leaves are new
among the trees,
when flow’rets bud
and winter flees.

Her eyes shine,
she gestures grace
and draws me in
to her dulcet embrace.

In this prime,
her melodies swarm
and hypnotize -captivate
poesy form.

Then compelled
by aires of allure,
I write simple verses-
the memory secure.