Wrightings

Mother feeds a tree, long after gloaming heart worn and wormed no longer roaming intact she entered the clay for she and the Son to rise some day now is pinned by granite engraved her family neighbors also enslaved behind a latched gate no animals shall ablate dirt isn’t the best halm or the way to think of mom

Writing a book is hard work and it takes a lot of help from friends and family as well as fellow writers.  The launch was held at Orland public library on October 10th at 5:00 pm with a small but welcoming audience, I shared several poems and many of my beliefs and reasons why this book is important.   I'm currently soliciting help from the local newspaper volunteer who wrote a short article about the book launch. Luckily, I was able to pay for express shipping and sold several copies of Homeless Joy and offered Unadoptable Joy for sale as well.  

Firefall Red leaves  turning brown Flames of fire  consuming wood Eating the forest

Lamppost leaning left tempting me to not turn right My path flows right along the bay as the houses lean left from eons of winds off the water I think if I ever get another Labrador, I’ll name her Ilene as previous ones owned loved to lean against my legs at least that name wouldn’t be as disrespectful calling a yella lab Beach when you live in Texas, just doesn’t work. It comes out all wrong when you visit the gulf and your dog takes a run. Lean is just all wrong too. My dad used to say, “Either sit or stand.”  If your too tired to do either you should be in bed.”  He also told me I should stand for some sort of cause. I should stand up not only for my own rights but for the rights of others. Although both mom and dad offered to give me a reason to not be able to sit down with belt or wooden spoon in the kitchen. I learned as I worked in kitchens, “if you have time to lean you have time to clean.”  As I see another streetlamp leaning, this one against a tre

for she whose bird no longer sings and him to Ashbery everything as Wilbur, and Kendrick, and Dunmore Pulitzers and laureates gone before that should I speak their words remind you what you've heard pull taut the strings of your heart for those poets who are no longer part of the ebb and flow style turning of phrases to file for your own future use review rhyme and meter like a noose and in their graves freshly dug we find renewed inspiration

The phone rang and then She dropped to her knees Sobbing and soaking in Unwanted news and then Questioning and plotting Praying and packing and then Going back to a place of Long ago and then Seeing and feeling and Succumbing to sadness Only to prop herself back up again

I got a gift today Something miraculous Although a spirit died Life gone, a price paid in beauty focused yellow eyes Didn’t see me watching   his swoop until talons sank deep into flesh juvenile studied me over his shoulder as he squeezed the last breath out of his prey collected his winnings lifted to his perch and dined on his suburban feast

I looked across the stillness into the whiteness straining my eyes searching I saw a reflection of shades of gray yet I feel black and white