step into a cloud

i step into a cloud on my deck

where i can barely see the yellow mum

at the far end or the greenhouse

in the back yard of the house below

sunrise colors seep into the white-gray

but give no hint of the eastern horizon

missing from my encroached-on world

and yet experience tells me the rest

of my universe remains as it has been

daylight will emerge as it is able

distant objects will reappear wondering

where i have been and i will believe

again, that i am part of something

greater than myself – thank goodness

busyness as well as business

busyness as well as business

etch at the spirit of the season

blur the edges of our star

darkening its bright pathway

dimming our recognition

of those who would need our love

liturgest

liturgist for church this December

so, extra opportunities to attend

services and read Scripture

i enjoy the story-telling of the season

but I have so little energy for all

else that the season commands

piles

piles here and there

wrapping paper, bows, presents

clothes i hope to take on our trip

in early January

lists of errands to be done

that i seldom remember

to consult before i leave the house

but the chaos is familiar

even somewhat comforting

if i live to be 111, i may

just get it all done

but probably not

pattern

subtle pattern may

spell person-made, but Nature’s

art is ultimate

training and practice

training and practice

until the muscles know

and the mind can slip back

into anonymity

but with aged brain and muscles

the rehearsal time is longer

and far less graceful

something i’ve needed to learn

to chuckle over

a feast of joy

lunch yesterday with writing friends

i had not seen or hugged in years

talking, listening, laughing, inquiring

learning of pain and success, recovery

dreams, hopes, loss and healing

reading a new poem, sharing smiling

with appreciation from deep within

a feast of joy

nature is warning

whispered commands

hush us to listen

or tell us power is elsewhere

and that can be a grave mistake

minute plays

tiny plays, scenes, really

characters interacting

with enough story behind them

to draw you in to care about them

to watch what happens

and how it changes them

as it does, however briefly, us

no human contact

 turning away, face

indifferent to me there

strips me of being

live generously

live generously

is a friend’s company’s motto

that suits her way of life

to fulfillment

it was a joy to hug her

on her birthday

and see again the sparkle

in her eyes as she reaches out

with love

december

haiku

beautiful, green boughs

twinkling, multi-colored lights

seasonal great joy

pale sunrise

haiku

dawn without color

pallor seeping amid clouds

bright white emerges

dealing with

voluble, garrulous, dealing with regret

and loss of function with loss of use

of limbs, he deals out words as though

all who come to visit are game to hear

again and again his same stories,

not of unmanly woe, but male triumphs

with big machines, heavy equipment

admiring blonds who circle and smile

and later turn nasty and vicious

and drive him to drink

he has needs, but trying to help him

is proving costly

frank incense speaking

frank incense speaking

does little to ease arterial flow

to relieve freedom of movement

paralyzed by a stroke

brought on by fear and anger

to help persons listen who remain

deaf to the pain of others

frank incense speaking infuriates

continues division by ‘we versus they’

or ‘us versus them’ and poisons

rather than calms the middle ground

of respect and mutual compromise

frank incense speaking

is not our world’s best gift

to the despairing Prince of Peace

hand-me-down happy

hand-me-down happy

as i do not like to shop

but love to remember

joyous times with the giver

quilt

patches, squares or triangles

seen from Italian skies

as we flew toward Rome

over farmlands meticulously fenced

walled off by as owned by independents

greens so various and individual

they spread out as a vast quilt

stitched by Mother Nature

as the ultimate seamstress

of human comforters

answers, anyone?

does a reflection have physical reality?

how can multiverses fit within our own?

are concepts closer to reality

than what we ‘know’ from our senses?

why do our parents groan every time

we repeat why? why? why?

encumbered

 listening to the elderly

can be crushing

as life accumulates pain

and, at times, they speak

of what they bear

struggle for dawn

haiku

orange gold vied hours

to emerge among purple

clouds to bring sunrise