open, starry spaces

Gently the dark comes down over the wild, fair places, The whispering glens in the hills, the open, starry spaces; Rich with the gifts of the night, sated with questing and dreaming, We turn to the dearest of the paths where the star of the homelight is gleaming. -L.M. Montgomery       Thanksgiving reminds me … More open, starry spaces

hidden gem (poem)

I said to the gem surviving beneath the season’s first sheath of ice and snow, “you are my favorite” because the world walked by and did not notice you . I stopped and noticed your tenacity insistence to live and not die buried under indifference of snow and disinterested, distracted fast-walkers, fast-talkers . I will look … More hidden gem (poem)

Autumn Leaf (Poem)

Beautifully curling upward, Cupping droplets that land on its skin I take my finger, wipe the drop Leaving a skirmish behind The autumn leaf is like a heart Turned toward heaven Changing colors, singing in its death— I wonder, Leaf, how many songs have you sung? * I wrap myself in a coat of leaves … More Autumn Leaf (Poem)

senescent (poem)

Senescent (adjective) growing old; aging. Cell Biology. (of a cell) no longer capable of dividing but still alive and metabolically active. As in: trees laughing leaves, dropping down on me, floating in the wind. I catch a handful of laughter, toss it back in the air. As in: the hidden beauty in growing old, in death, revealed and … More senescent (poem)

Besides the Autumn Poets Sing (poem by Emily Dickinson)

  Besides the Autumn Poets Sing by Emily Dickinson Besides the autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the haze. A few incisive mornings, A few ascetic eves,— Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod, And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves. Still is the bustle in the brook, Sealed … More Besides the Autumn Poets Sing (poem by Emily Dickinson)

One More Day

The wind whispers in the leaves, “Change is coming, can you hear it?” Autumn breezes softly blow and colors subtly change. The wind scatters the few fallen leaves like my thoughts. That is when I remember the Holy Spirit moves like the wind, a gentle reminder to me that He is here, moving, working, the … More One More Day

Poetry (quote)

(photo source: unsplash)   Poetry is language used with intensity. It is not, as so many suppose, decorative speech. Poets tell us what our eyes, blurred with too much gawking, and our ears, dulled with too much chatter, miss around and within us. Poets use words to drag us into the depths of reality itself, … More Poetry (quote)