poetry, writing

Summer Heat

The bright sun above beats down, how hot can it get?

The glass of iced tea sweats, leaving behind a ring of wet.

The birds are silent; the weather is even too warm for them.

The dragonflies are hanging above, each insect they find a gem.

She waters the small garden, the heat makes her shoulders glisten,

The tomatoes perk up and the flowers and herbs brighten.

Being in the shade gives relief to some,

The warmest days are yet to come.

poetry, writing

Work Life Balance

Pen to paper, scratch, scratch, scratch. Notes written in haste, important at the time.

Now they no longer make sense. They are just scribbles.

Hands to keyboard, click, clack, click. Emails and documents and meetings on top.

Work spins forward, as does life. But so much time wasted.

Talent and creativity, thrown aside just to meet a deadline. Just deliver on time.

Forcing the workday to end is hard, there is always more to do.

But I need quiet away, a moment to create, to escape, to renew.

poetry, writing


Tender plumeria blossoming in the late-spring heat.

Their five-petaled flowers slowly unwind and spread out like the sun’s rays.

Yellow and white and pink and orange line our walkway.

Their delicate blooms dance in the afternoon drizzle,

the raindrops roll down the massive leaves.

As the rains grow heavy, the flowers yield,

falling to the ground leaving an aisle of heady fragrance,

With nothing more to do until another round of buds come in.

poetry, travel

Blissful Mornings

Every morning should start like this.

No alarms blaring, just pure bliss.

Birds sing out from the trees in glee,

while I brew up his coffee and my tea.

Some toast with jam in my hand,

And a comfy place to land.

Nature is where I fit in,

This is how every day should begin.

poetry, writing

Tennessee Rains

The sun hid from view with not much to say.

The skies turned from a brilliant blue to a hazy gray.

Leaves on the poplar and oaks turned up.

Tree trunks swayed as the winds picked up.

Droplets began to fall, lightly at first, wetting the deck.

Little kisses from the sky, a bushel and a peck.

The birds and the squirrels hid while the heavens poured.

And we listened to the tin roof sing as the rains roared.

poetry, writing

Owl’s Nest

The hoot of an owl, off in the distance, calls out in the night.

The fresh spring leaves quiver in the gentle breeze,

As the cool air settles on the mountainside.

Nestled in our treehouse, high among the branches,

The forest sings our souls to sleep.

poetry, writing


Years of self-induced torment lay at her feet.

Ripped to shreds are thoughts of doubt and fear.

Torn to pieces are the self-loathing and apologetic existence.

Torched and burned until only embers and ash remain.

From the smoke, she rises renewed to face another day.

poetry, writing


With heavy wings, he begins to take flight.

Finding his rhythm, the air lifts him out of the water below.

He floats above the crest of a swelling wave.

Watching for his morning meal,

he soars up in the air, circling, circling.

He stretches his neck as he begins to plummet back to the ocean.

Crashing, splashing, and catching his prey.

Breakfast is served.

poetry, writing


We each are mirrors, infinity bounces between, no end in sight.

Seemingly no beginning either, unless you turn.

Turn away from your mirror, face the sun, feel the warmth.

Reflect the light and illuminate your world.

Show your deeds, your heart, your smile.

Live your life.

Turn to your mirror for a reality check,

but don’t stay too long.

You may lose yourself in your mirror,

Never finding the beginning.

Never finding the end.

The world turns into a funhouse,

creating madness, getting lost in its maze.

Shattering your mirror will bring only bad luck,

sometimes a mirror needs to stand alone.