Learning from Asiatic Lily There can be no lotus flower without the mud. —Thich Nhat Hanh As red lick of sunrise brightens the airyou stand near sheets of greenerypause beside pillows of hosta / mosswitness / where love lands to kiss lilium lips. Slick with dew / petals glowas tongued bowls greet waspanswer beetle / […]Read more "Learning from Asiatic Lily"
not even the rain has such small hands Smokestacks of oak, hickory and birchlurch in the balance of sleet and snowon a confused Sunday in early Mayas my woods fill up with snow.It’s a snowy eveningtucked away on this Highland Park cul de sachugging Lake Michigan’s shoreas the gales of this Spring dayrecall the final […]Read more "not even the rain has such small hands"
The resemblance another existential morning and I’m having a coffee peering through the blinds at the chittering sparrows surveying the camellia bush at the centre of my lawn which the gardener has shaped into a giant ball dotted with blooms pink buds quivering like sea-anemone in the mild April breeze then it strikes me in […]Read more "The resemblance"
Note for Note Lovers always know their doom. ― Lynette Roberts The shadows from the past don’t sleep for long. They wake when least expected, as note for note, an old piano plays an unwritten song. Your double spies a long-lost love you wronged, waiting on a pier. All that’s now rote. Such shadows from […]Read more "Note for Note"
hold true no reason to know kiss the ground as it shakes everything goes away a continuing sequence of holding on and letting go infinite in its finality; love has many names and none of them can ever be ours to keep. Edward L. Canavan is an American poet whose work has been published in […]Read more "hold true"
House Dust is skin cells shrouding the broom that once gathered them, draping it now in gray; his blind calico’s brown eyelashes; pearl fibers sloughed off thread she strung through buttons two nights before they buried him in his white church shirt; pollen the daisies he gave her exhale from their kitchen jars. They form […]Read more "House Dust"
Brother, Can You Spare The Time? To be fully present for the sensation of a moment where you can discover what lies behind the human masquerade, and have the chance to make everything in your life new again. You’ll uncover grief, sorrow and passion in the sensing of the body armor. The tragic spiritual mediocrity […]Read more "Brother, Can You Spare The Time?"
A Master What if A Master could teach my son to fly over the cornfields of any countryside a person might wish or dream to see. This Master would dress like a carnival barker. My son, who long ago stopped minding my rules, would kick off his tennis shoes and take flight. People would see […]Read more "A Master"
Chairs Rest Like old married couple almost holding hands two lawn chairs rest at lake’s edge. Arms spread in anticipation of sunset each evening before frogs launch into serenade, and waves lap against shore; sound of kissing. Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase […]Read more "Chairs Rest"
Talking in Waves Dispense with the stubborn, cynical pride, evident in even the most casual aside, about which, much has already been said and many tears have been shed, she pleads. Please. What becomes of us gathers, remains and flows from every word and deed. And so, chastened, his tongue abides, cankered from flagrant use […]Read more "Talking in Waves"