not obliged

too much haze

too little flare

the northern lights

did not live up to predictions

or, rather, the predictions

were hopes and dreams

and gave the erupting sun

no sense of obligation

to fulfill them

copy editor

doggedly i filled out forms

sighing about another waste

of effort and time:  title, genre

number of pages, synopsis

sample of writing (3000-word max)

date for response – give her

30 days, at least

i pressed SUBMIT expecting to forget

i’d submitted by the time i heard

when half an hour later she emailed

“Interesting” and sent a proposal

a professional with contacts

is interested in my characters

several have been enthused in the past

but they were anonymous judges i had no way to follow up with

but this is someone I now have

a contract with, will work with

one-on-one

i am chin-high in correcting errors

in the manuscript again

i want to send her my best to do

these people i write about justice

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turquoise at the NW horizon

turquoise at the northwest horizon

remained so long, i had hope

watched, dreaming up movement

slithering colors that were not there

simply sunset clinging

to the foothills and pines

rather than a night early for promised Aurora Borealis but still beauty

beyond all the watercolor and pastel

i have ever lovingly spread on paper

Aurora

haunting, magical play of lights

i’ve seen twice now—three times

actually, as the second encounter spread

over two nights in August

a treasure experienced in Alaska

watching in shoulder-hugging awe

even knowing that solar flares

had sent particles to collide

with Earth’s magnetic field

science explains the colors and swaying

curtains of light, but not the depth

of feelings of the primitive within me

near worship of the vastness

of the universe of which i am less

than a speck flickering in time

back to basics

unexpected peace with going

back to our basics: warm, in-person

interactions and encouragement

leaving distant friends to work

on their own with promise

we’ll hold gatherings where

they are welcome to join us

celebration, even in pain

celebration, even in pain

warms the soul, gives hope

opens the heart to the love

and comfort others would give

WiGs’ 13th annual

 ah, the sweetness of success

in getting together at Ridgewalker

under Jeff Farrar’s gracious hosting

listening to fun and thoughtful

original readings by members

of Writers in the Grove and friends

authors supporting each other

encouraging, gently responding

laughing aloud with the humor

expressions reflecting the pain

warmth of fellow audience members’

reactions adding layers to the depths

of what is presented, enriching us all

worth fighting for

gentle self-talk would help heal

but i give in to the anger

of being demanded of

to give more without acknowledgement

as though i owed them another favor

since i’d be doing for them all along

and then a spontaneous, warm

supportive interaction happens

that reminds me of what was and

what may be again if i can only

find the key

Writers in the Grove’s 13th Annual

LEND an EAR, COME and HEAR

is nearly ready for the brewery

Ridgewalker, in Forest Grove

this Saturday from 10:30 to noon

with Bob’s murders, Chuck’s

down-to-earth philosophy

Susan’s excerpt from her loved

one’s story, Ann’s psalm

Kirsten, Kate, Julie, Bill, Anne

Robyn, Gretchen, mj, and Veronica

and Blake in grand finale

Come join us! Original. Thoughtful,

fun, provocative, tears and laughter

from local poets and writers

free and fulfilling

colors reveal secret

 how the colors reveal secret

dew or rain just absorbed

so, unfelt as wetness

but leaving darkness

within the tarmac

and a freshness to newly

undusted rosebush leaves

giving lighthearted spirit to our world

as it faces another day of heat

and humans

outlived

not for discussion

this is what i’ve built

over decades

time, effort, funds

but it’s veered from support

of each other

to ‘what will you give me?’

perhaps it’s outlived

its purpose and needs

to end

swooping shadow

even a wren creates a shadow

flying above and trailing

a flapping bit of darkness

across the path in front of me

but the swoop of a bird of prey’s

sinister silhouette overhead

freezes breath and pulse

i can only imagine the terror

of a chick or rabbit with death

soaring between earth and sun

Ah! July’s mj Newsletter

ah! July’s mj Newsletter

just went out from Mailchimp

fun to gather

throughout the month before

but always disappointing

that with each goes a warning

about possible danger

to the recipient

that automatically accompanies

mass mailings (except the scams

i get thanking me for phony

subscription – that my card will

be charged $1649.22)

it is so difficult to tell information

from misinformation coming

from the digital world

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red poppies

red poppies survived

even my non-green thumb

laughing in their pert strength

and curtsying in the breeze

at my smile of gratitude

suspended sentence

weeks after the screening frightened

weeks of testing fluids, systems

weeks of nights awake with concern

finally, the will-be surgeon suggests

the findings are not as dire

as first suspected

surgery an option, but not

an imminent need

unless the pain more frequent

or worse, surgery can wait

until life situation can cope more easily

relief

promise of deep, healing sleep

dine in joy

her voice over the phone

animated, grateful, joyous

as she explained she’d taken

my rosebud with her to dinner

all who stopped by admired

its red, new-opened petals

and inhaled its fragrance

that night dining, as well,

in joy

her daughter wants her to stay

 her hopes for the small home

she wished to buy where she’d

spent decades among friends

dashed by the inspector’s report

so many things needing repair

she could have returned to doing

but not in that run-down house

she’s made friends where she now lives

her daughter, who worked front desk

is now retired but wants her to stay

since she is only fifteen minutes away

yet the writing group is now lead

by someone who reads the work

of the vision-impaired with less

than empathy and understanding

rather than greater independence

she faces slow descent to blindness

and dependency                           

feeding our children plastic

David Attenborough’s “Our Planet II”

toddler albatrosses on remote island

fluff feathers amidst bottles and jars

plastic shapes that keep them afloat

to travel on currents throughout

our world, splinter in pieces we l

like the parent birds, then devour or

in our ignorance, feed our children

starving us, and them, of life  

David has documented our self

destruction for decades and often

suggests ways we can turn toward

health, but plastic and immediate gain

obviously hold greater appeal

wander quiet paths

wander quiet paths

know what you are a part of

hear life around you

embroidered with darkness

embroidered with darkness

fine net of twig and leaf shadow

gently undulates

over Daddy Ben’s rocker