Wednesday, May 16, 2018


We’re to consider “happiness” for
this week’s Midweek Motif.  I am
blessed, and seem to have a working
acquaintance with happiness.
Submitted to Poets United
May 16, 2018

Could it be happiness is elusive
        hidden by thoughts obtrusive
While dwelling on discontent
        and wondering where happy went
Perhaps we expect too much…
        glorious grand moments and such
Meanwhile quiet moments of  pleasure
        could bring happiness beyond measure
But we carelessly pass them by
        while we're looking for “pie in the sky”.

The photo is of an Oregon sunrise taken
by my daughter.

Monday, May 7, 2018


Old abandoned houses always make me wax poetic
and wonder where are they now, how did their lives
unfold, and what memories drift in the dust
particles behind empty windows.
Here's a bit of rhyme submitted to dVerse, where
we're asked to consider the art of learning.  I continue
to learn the nuances of poetry from my fellow poets
here, and I am STILL trying to learn to negotiate
Photoshop for use in creating my digital art.
Submitted to Tuesday Poetics #220
May 8, 2018

Thursday, April 26, 2018


Midweek Motif at Poets United
asks us to feature Summer. The word
conjures pleasant vignettes.
Submitted to Poets United
April 26, 2018

Grasshoppers and fireflies
         Sunday afternoon croquet games
                          Home made Ice cream
   Sheets smelling of sunshine
                               Bicycle rides at dusk
          Song of the meadowlark from the fencepost
Sweet-smelling fields of clover
                   Hoot owl in the oak tree
    Reading Zane Grey under the elm tree
                          Cold, clear water from the well
 Magnificent summer storms
            Tomatoes ripe and warm from the garden
                           Sweet, purple grapes from the old vine
Hollyhocks by the yard fence
     The low of cattle in the evening
                       Life, so simple and sweet

Monday, April 23, 2018


Lilian asks us to consider
the word “gather” in
this week’s quadrille of
44 words.
Submitted to dVerse
April 22, 2018

in reverie
memories drift from
the attic of my brain  
and I revisit
the many actors
in the drama
of  my life ...
some are extras
entering stage left
exiting stage right
some have leading roles  ...
I gather their faces
in my mind yet again

Digital art is my own.

Saturday, April 14, 2018


Idle thoughts in rhyme, submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry #399,  and to dVerse Open Link #218.
March 16, 2018

Sometimes, as our life progresses
There are moments we show no concern
Absorbed with our busy thought processes
They pass by to never return
    They're the last times

A lunch with favorite people
Lifetime friendships honed by the years
The next time a chair may be empty
And what’s left memories and tears.
    It was the last lunch.

A cheek turned to his goodbye kiss
As he hurried out the door
A screech of brakes and shatter of glass
And life as she knew it is no more.
   It was the last kiss.

She waved as the schoolbus pulled away
A day to be gloriously free
But madness stalked the classroom
And he fell to a bullet he didn’t see.
   It was their last day.

We must treasure the special moments
And consider what we do and say
There is no guarantee for tomorrow
Perhaps all we have is today.
   And the last times.


Monday, March 19, 2018


Haibun Monday, and we’re asked the
Who, When and Why of our poetic effort…
who inspired us, what’s our style, and
why we write.   Surely that sends us all
into the throes of self examination!
Submitted to dVerse 
March 19, 2018

seasons come and go
our life pages turn onward
as autumn turns to winter

When I look the long way back to my childhood, I recall 
my mother reciting poetry to me.  Her favorite was James
Whitcomb Riley’s “Li’l Orphant Annie”.   Something about
the rhythm and rhyme was soothing to me.  There were
other poems she’d been required to memorize in her brief
years of schooling, but the others fade from my memory. 
Surely, though, it was my mother’s love of poetry that was
my inspiration.  My first poem, probably at the age of
about 10,  is lost in the pages of time, but I remember the
first couple of lines, no doubt written after a rousing Bible
study class …
“Is there dust on your Bible
Dust on your holy book
Then there’s dust on your heart, brother
Are you afraid to look?”
For the next 70 plus years (and to this day) I took solace in
the rhythm of rhyming poetry, so my style remains that
somewhat outdated style, which seems to have given way
to open verse.   Why do I write?  Simply because I feel the
need to commit to paper thoughts and events in my life,
sometimes in rhyme and often in prose form.   I like to
think one day some descendant will be interested
in the life and times of a remote ancestor!

Photo is my own digital art.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018


It's Midweek Motif at Poets United.
Carpe diem is to be the topic.  I offer
a poem I wrote some time ago, before
I retired.  Strange to look back at that
younger me, longing for leisure moments.
Now my days ARE filled with leisure, and
I can savor the moments.
Submitted to Poets United
February 28, 2018

As I speed along the freeway
In the usual morning race
My thoughts turn back to other times
When life had a slower pace
When there was time for dreaming
And wriggling our toes in the mud
And close examination
Of each leaf and flower and bud.
For listening to autumn breezes
As they rustled through fields of grain
And for smelling the wondrous fresh bouquet
Of a late spring evening rain
For idling under a shade tree
When no one knew where I was
And studying the intricate mechanics
Of what makes bumblebees buzz.
For listening to trills of songbirds
As they flit from tree to tree
While I looked for four-leaf clovers
In grass like a great green sea.

It seems now my days are so busy
These pleasures are things of the past
I try to find time for dreaming
But life races by too fast
I think of the time when I’m older,
With time on my hands again.
How I’ll treasure those special moments
Much moreso than I did then.
For God in his infinite wisdom
Has bestowed a very great favor
What in youth we take for granted
In old age we have time to savor.

Digital art is mine (with help from
John William Waterhouse)