Sunday, December 31, 2017

Bare of Burgundy and Berry

The trees are bare of their lemony leaves,
bare of burgundy and berry.
Branches stretch out, some forked, some leaning,
I wonder if I will heal and stay alive.

I try not to wonder too much.
I trust that I will live as my mother,
father, grandmother lived into ripe
old age, into lemony, berry old age.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

Thoughts on a Snowy Morning

Pine needles spread across the mustard sky,
I wonder if I will heal and stay alive?

There is a brook, pebbles, slabs of rock,
stepping stones to the next right step.

Who can know the next right step,
mossy, slippery, shimmering, wet?

Revel in the pale mustard beauty of the sky
whispering her secrets.


A home is a precious thing, so is a friend,
so is a person with whom you share life.

Try to show your love in little ways,
peel an orange and separate the segments.

Draw up the juice onto your lips,
give away a sliver.

Drink the green tea of love,
eat the prunes of compassion.