poetry, writing

Autumn is Upon Us

Crimson reds, sunset oranges, and golden yellows abound.

The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, that sound.

Fireplaces soon will billow with soot and smoke,

The time nears to gather with friends and kinfolk.

High school football on Friday nights,

Marching bands playing under the lights,

A chill in the air brings sweater weather,

and an excuse to snuggle closer together.

Let’s enjoy a warm tea and give a cheer,

It’s no wonder I love this time of year!

🍁 Happy Fall Y’all! 🍂

poetry, writing


A voice stands out

Among all the rest.

The cacophony fades away.

Your voice, your voice…

there is something familiar

in your voice.

I listen with intent,

seeking for hidden messages.

Is it your voice I hear?

Speak softly in my ear,

draw me in closer,

Share with me your world.


is it you I hear?

poetry, writing


When I’m home, finally home,

I will install those curved glass shelves,

the shelves I opened that tragic Christmas,

Just weeks after Dad passed away.

He bought them for me when I found home.

I’m not there yet, all these years later.

When I’m home, finally home,

I will hang that glass art I bought,

The Frank Lloyd Wright inspired piece,

The one that reminds me of home.

I’m not there yet, it doesn’t belong here.

When I’m home, finally home,

I will smile with delight, spin in the halls,

and breathe in fresh air from outside.

I will see the seasons change and feel love.

I’m not there yet, but one day I will.

poetry, writing

Will You?

Will you open your book to me,

Read to me every word of every page?

Will you tell me your stories,

Your triumphs and your tragedies?

Will you share with me your thoughts,

Your biases, peeves, and beliefs?

Will you show me your scars,

So I may kiss away any remaining pain?

Will you reveal your emotions,

Letting me catch your tears,

And wipe away the trails they leave?

And revel in your smile

As you share your joys too?

Will you let me in one day,

Show me all you have to reveal?

I truly hope you do.

poetry, writing


Inspired by a writing prompt from Lady Jabberwocky.

She was cute and sweet,

Always ready to run and play.

Never one to lay at my feet,

But Anissa knew how to stay.

Her coat was pure white

Unusual for a husky I’d say.

And goodness, was she ever so bright,

And beautiful in every way.

I never thought I was a dog person,

Until I had to give her away.

I love animals, I am certain,

I think of her to this very day.

poetry, writing


The sun drifts up, illuminating the sky,

Revealing the golden treasure of the river below,

As a lone fisherman fly casts waist-high.

The forest smells of grass and pine fill the air,

The mountains in silhouette,

As the elk meander across the field.

Such are late summer mornings

in Yellowstone National Park.

poetry, travel, writing

Lamar Valley

A thick haze clings to the sky,

only letting filtered light through

in the early morning hours.

The valley stretches for miles in all directions,

mountains and hills fill in the voids

but disappear in the distance.

Curving streams and creeks wind their way

through the grasses and brush

which offer hiding spots for various wild life.

Bison plod their way across the valley,

stopping for nothing, not even the cars.

They own this land, and everyone gives way.

A lone grey wolf stalks small prey,

circling, walking back and forth,

then looking out to protect his treasure.

Groups of pronghorn dot the hills,

some braver ones find their way to the stream.

The sun rises higher,

the temperatures rise,

and the animals find their way

to shadier spots amongst the distant trees.

Quiet returns to Lamar Valley.

poetry, writing


Her sight grew dim as she walked down the trail,

the light fading with the setting of the sun.

In the absence of vision her ears perked up,

listening for every whisper among the trees,

every twig that snapped under her feet.

The moon would rise soon, so she carried on,

not waiting for the beams to illuminate the way,

to that secret place she ventured toward,

the precipice of her journey.

In the distance, a clearing from the forest opened,

she drew closer to that point.

In her hand, she held a small flower.

The moon rose in the distance between the peaks,

the beams danced off her dark brown eyes,

making them shine like the evening stars.

She took a seat, holding the flower before her,

and let out a sigh. The trip was symbolic only,

today there would be no immediate change,

but change had to be made.

She looked out to the valley below,

the moon shimmering off the lake and river,

while the town’s streetlights still glowed.

A single tear fell from her eyes,

bounced on the petals, then rolled off.

She smiled with a pained grimace,

both relieved but also sad.

Slowly, she let go of that flower,

watching it float on the wind.

That night, the beautiful blossom changed

into a glorious butterfly with wings.

Transformation Audio
poetry, writing


The earth shifts and quakes.

I lose my balance once more.

Shifting, bucking up and down,

the chasm grows once more,

pebbles and rock scatter down.

The bridge sways and tightens

ropes straining under the pressure.

I hear the creaking in the ropes

as the peak on the far side rises,

trying to move out of reach again.

I stumble back and fall on my ass,

tears welling up in my eyes.

Do I chance out across that bridge,

slowly breaking until it is but a tight rope,

or hold back in this place of safety,

wondering if there will be a chance

in some future time, some future place?

Perhaps in a different lifetime the goal awaits.