Thursday, September 22, 2016

I love the moon

For the moon

Even if I could not see you
Your glow would cool my mind.
There you are, steadfast, at ease,
Lighting the night, putting right all
The harsh ills of the day, making
Me grateful for my eyes, your peace.


Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Happy New Year

The separation from my blog since my last post in October 2015 is the longest I've had since creating Writerquake. Focus has been a main issue. I absolutely hate that, and hope to reign myself in, settle down here more often. I have missed writing, and, more than that, have missed reading posts at other blogs so much and sharing comments with you.

The only consistent writing I've done is at Facebook in the form of Haiku posts. I've gathered some of them here to communicate how I witnessed the seasons of 2015, simple proof that I kept my eyes and heart open last year.


Muted moon tonight
Hazy ring wide as the dome
Night birds flew through it

Road through rainforest
Sopping air, clouds high and bright
Prisms burst through fog.

Tense ionic air
Zeuss rumbles and cracks - birds still
Wash of sweet rain calms

Sleeps in black velvet
More precious than daytime's gauze
Summer night sublime

Silver Creek whispers:
"Remember, remember when . . ."
I know when is Now

Vast starlight—midnight
Shooting star arcs in delight
Dusts me with insight

Last rays on gold fish
Bird of prey soars with dinner
First/last flight for fish.

Golden spider weaves
Midnight, porchlight, rain falling
Autumn comes softly

Power saw's loud scream
Silent fir's last day of sun
Old-growth thuds on ground

Low frothy white clouds
Tiny star plays hide and seek
My bright deep-space friend

Asleep beside me
Stretches, grunts, long legs twitching
Wild puppy runs free

Tree finally up
Lights purple red green gold white
Sugarplum puppy


Thursday, October 15, 2015

Sobriety: 30 years

Stillness by Michael Sprouse

Ich komme aus meinen Schwingen heim -by Rainier Maria Rilke

I come home from the soaring in which I lost myself.
I was song, and the refrain which is God
is still roaring in my ears.

Now I am still
and plain:
no more words.

To the others I was like a wind:
I made them shake.
I’d gone very far, as far as the angels,
and high, where light thins into nothing.

But deep in the darkness is God.

-from Rilke's Book of Hours – Love Poems to God

As I have since this blog's inception, on the day of my sobriety anniversary I publish this treasured Rilke poem, but with a new image each year.

Friday, September 11, 2015

Mag 284 — Sunset Pantoum

I want to wander there now
In the land split by the hills
Where sunset colors the valley
And gloaming shades the mounds

In the land split by the hills
Days live long in the mossy fields
And gloaming shades the mounds
As night comes in layers of beauty

Days live long in the mossy fields
Youth takes for granted the sun
As night comes in layers of beauty
Age sees and remembers it all

Youth takes for granted the sun
And the moon, the stars, and youth
Age sees and remembers it all
As sighs turn to smiles of knowing

And the moon, the stars, and youth
Then focus over the misty crest
As sighs turn to smiles of knowing
Open the gate to the beckoning path

Then focus over the misty crest
Back to the shining valley below
Open the gate to the beckoning path
I want to wander there now.

Written for The Mag: Mag 284 that inspired with the above image (it seemed like a visual pantoum to me, thus the poetic form I used).

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Mag 278 — goodbye

So as to not disturb the silence from which
this poem came I will whisper goodbye.

No goodbyes to the space that will always
hold us but goodbye to the vastness of
that space. No goodbyes to your face that
is there for friends in the good book of
these days, and no goodbyes to your face
in smiling pictures from those days,
but goodbye to seeing eye to eye.
Goodbye to your hands: I loved them to
look at, and being gifted by them with
pleasures. Goodbye to the pleasure of
knowing you well. Goodbye to your voice-
its tone and timbre, and your written voice-
its passion and poignancy. Goodbye to all you
were for me—heartbreaker and muse, taker
and lover, forsaker and friend, forgiver and

*first stanza - with a nod to final line of HOW TO BE A POET by Wendell Berry

Written for The Mag: Mag 278 that inspired with the above image prompt.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Pause for Reflection

The image she kept of herself: sophisticated
elegance, hair swept in perfumed grace, nails
groomed pink clinking against the drink glass,
ice winking from clear blue eyes.

Who she was: the drunk in dirty overalls,
flirty beauty long gone, slurring stories long on
lies, interrupting herself with "Excuse me,"
before puking inside her garment bib.

Written (with gratitude for we women who have attained sobriety) for two writing prompts:

1) Photo Challenge #68, Pause at MindLoveMisery's Menagerie.
Note: Image by

2) 55 words for Flash 55 Plus at imaginary garden with real toads

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Mag 270 — imprint

Today, five months after your death,
two young deer surprised me in the
yard at dawn. One trotted rhythmically
across the lawn, but the other stood
stoically feet away and we regarded
one another with quiet understanding.

The day held sunshine that filtered
through the slats and rays streaked
your bed. I lie briefly there each
night, my head quieted, my bones
sinking into spots where you slept.
Truth is, I still weep for you there.

At dusk clouds bloated with moisture
chugged across the sky, competing
with the sun. Eventually, as was pre-
dicted, they won. But the glorious
contest colored a modest rainbow,
while birds worked on symphonies.

Tonight gentle rain misted the yard
you loved well. It puddled in huge
rocks where it fell, those turquoise
ones we had hauled here that are
beloved by butterflies in summer.
I think they leave their prints behind.

Written for The Mag: Mag 270 that inspired with the above image prompt: artwork 
by Ulrike Bolenz.

Monday, April 13, 2015

Mag 265 — I am the sea

This is me. I am the sea.
I am pale as foam and
blue, drenched by a river
of tears flowing into me —
From me waves of change
are blowing, yet
I am still in the night,
cradling my host of loved
ones of the deep. We
sleep with the moon in
reflective trust as aeons
of dreams turn the tide.

Written for The Mag: Mag 265 that inspired with the above image prompt: painting by Daria Petrilli.




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