Always a Hippie

Once a hippie, always a hippie

love beads long gone but not

the love.  Flower child transformed

to flower-powered adult who still

on occasion will have a toke and

lose herself in a plume

of ganja smoke and the groove

of those free-spirited 60s.

Join us at dVerse Poets where De Miller invites us to get our groove on!


the pleasant aroma wafts

about the room

filling it by the ancient ritual

similar to smudging to purify

cleanse and uplift my surroundings

the tiny plume of smoke arising

from the incense stick

connects me to heaven








Mish is our host at dVerse for our Quadrille prompt. Join us for the fun!

Silver Lining

open mind to those who are suffering
heart too opens with compassion
don’t despair, we will prevail
we’ll be changed for the better
because we’ve learned and grown
through the trials put before us
we’ve drawn closer
boundaries are dissolving
in spite of distancing

Today De is our host for the Quadrille, one of the more popular prompts. Head over to dVerse to check out her presentation and give it a try. It’s fun!

What If Became What Now

I haven’t been inspired to write
since this contagion invaded. My energy
has waned with a low-level anxiety
as the what-ifs take over my mind.

Scientists and many others
foresaw what was ahead but
provisions were not made
and now our world is tightly
enmeshed in grave suffering.

There’s a pall hanging over us all
and I feel it as it creeps its way inside
my subconscious hijacking my peace.

Some days I feel an almost panic
as it spikes like the fevers of those
inflicted. Others I’m resigned to this
new way of life and accept what is
for my safety and the benefit of others.

I’m isolating because I want to give
that virus as little ammunition
as possible to take aim at any of us.
There’s a mark on each of our backs.


It sits as though abandoned
this mourning-dove gray house
that mirrors the weather this day.
Too close to the neighbors,
too look-alike,
too much blending in
with all the others,
no sparkling
or character
sets it apart.

An unattractive
screen door
bars entering
the house with
ease–its spring
wound too tight,
it demands
a firm grip
while opening
so as not to slam
into you as you attempt
a quickened leap
before it hits your heels.

Cheap, green indoor-outdoor
carpeting greets your feet
(and assaults your sensibilities)
and leads you to the prosaic,
commonplace front door.
Inside, builder’s drab beige
monopolizes every square inch.
No optimistic hues provide
a joyful skip of the heart
or a pleased, inward smile
of satisfaction.

No lively art that’s been
lovingly and joyfully collected
hangs upon the dreary, sad walls.
Oh, there’s a print here or there
but they too exhibit
lack of bold,
a drought
of interest
in adding
a bit of oneself
into this
abode of deficiency.

A pianist lives here.
The love of the classics
muses round her thoughts
and emerges with enthusiasm
and light through her deft fingers.
Though she be aged and becoming
forgetful, the music that she has
studied since childhood
livens her soul and the notes
take flight about the room
and fill every corner
with her verve and brightness.

Her interest lies not in the outward
appearance of where she kicks off
her shoes at the end of the day or
where she lays her head at night,
but instead she flourishes on the
vivid, vibrant strokes of color
that come from that piano grand.

Join us at dVerse Poets where Lillian hosts Open Link Night!

To You Who Come to Me in My Dreams

What messages do you bring
in the fogginess of my sleep
where my subconscious awakens
and begins to creep?

This morning someone appeared
from my past and ignored
my pleas for help.
Anger and fear welled
up as if you were still here
in my waking life.
My insecurities are outlined
in vivid scenes that I thought
long gone and put to rest.
But no, they stir up anxiety
and dread and splinter my heart
that pierces deep.
I cry out awakening in tears.
Terror has overcome me
as unseen, faceless
entities chase and
I awaken gasping and sweaty.
Recently I awoke with a jolt
from feeling as though suffocating
my breath faltering, failing me.
Uneasiness stayed most of the day.

But some dreams do bring reprieve
and I’ve awakened giggling.
I think I like those the best.
And flying–when I push off
from the earth and I’m suddenly
in-flight sailing effortlessly
through the sky.
Never too high though
just enough to float above
the tree tops—a low soaring.

I’ve excelled at martial arts,
fallen from terrifying heights
and survived without a bump.
I’ve dreamt things that have
come true and others
of pure nonsense.
I’ve been back to my
childhood, running through
neighbors’ backyards.
I can even wake myself up
when weary of the vision
at hand or the nightmare
that has gripped me for too long.
For that I am grateful.
But what am I to gain
from the illusions
provoked by my brain?
Do I pay them heed
or leave them slumbering?

Join us for Open Link Night where Grace hosts over at dVerse Poets Pub.

Only the Crows Know

crows crowd the oak
some alight, others take flight
circling the branches
vying for space

strangely quiet
no cawing squawking
the scene on the ground
is somber with sobs

black is worn
like the crows that day
one has passed on
to the next unknown

mystery surrounds
this journey we take
a window opens
and out we slip

only the crows know
the secret world ahead
they chuckle to themselves
of what we dread

It’s Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets.  Join in with a poem where Lillian is hosting.

Full Moon and Specters

Everything’s darker
come October.
Even our
usual long,
sunny days are
getting dimmer.
There might be
a slight dip
in temp but
it still steams
with humidity.
Some years fall
doesn’t topple
upon us until
The 31st
means Halloween!
As kids we
always hoped
for a cool one
so those often
hot costumes
that we wore
would be more
as we tore
from house
to house
through the night.
A full moon
would add
to the creepiness
and if the wind
was blowing
the shadows
would rock-
and create
specters in the
trees that
chased us
all the way home.

Poets United is asking for poems or prose on October:

What Was That You Said?

I can’t remember any of them.
All the words of manipulation
and exaggeration
that you used to try and inflate
your already over-sized ego
are dead and gone the way
of the Dodo. They’re dust,
extinct, no amount of
resuscitation could bring them back.

Linda Lee Lyberg is hosting the Quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets today. Join us if you can!

A Lightness of Being

to witness your pain
and to take it in
where it stirs my heart
and compassion reigns
connects our humanity
eloquent and deep
we meet in the middle
and clasp our hands

tears fall freely
without feeling vulnerable
knowing we’re loved
with no hesitation
reaching around
our embrace enfolds
and healing begins
from the warmth
of our emotions

there is no weakness sensed
I will hear what you grieve
held in a space of safety
where love always lives
I will be there for you
as you are for me
our pain will diminish
as the two of us reveal
let me shore you up
through life’s sufferings
bring you ease, a smile
and a lightness of being

I wrote this poem minutes after watching the movie “Evelyn” about a family who loses a member to suicide. They don’t speak of it for 14 years until this documentary which begins their healing.

Joining dVerse Poets tonight with Lill as our host for Open Link Night:

Silent Sentinels of Truth

The sweltering day is winding down
and the shadows are lengthening.
As the summer nears its solstice,
the activity in the trees
(even by the insects) has
succumbed to a lazy, dampened
sluggishness of seeking shade
from the intensity that still pierces
through the canopy of the grove.

Dappled now, the waning sunlight
glimmers like miniature beacons
amongst the undergrowth as a
passes through the leaves.

Their stillness belies their discipline
as Watchmen in this quiet glade.
This grouping of oaks has been
steadfast sentries for hundreds
of years. Some have been lost to
old age and storms but most have
weathered What Has Come with
grace and fortitude.

They are the Silent Sentinels of Truth.
They yield when necessary without
betrayal. They hold steady without
defiance. Their boldness is tempered
by their enduring humility.
They abide without beliefs or religion
but serve and embrace all who
seek their refuge, looking to each
with equanimity.

These magnificent nobilities are
regal treasures to be revered.
They breathe and take sustenance,
grow and expand in awareness.
They begin soft and supple
riding the waves of squalls,
pliant to the extreme of
temperatures that threaten
their tender stems
and roots, but somehow thrive
and become dignified beings
of uprightness, integrity
and reliability.

Vero Oaks at Sunset; Artwork by Johnson Hagood

(The origin and history of the word “Vero” is from the Latin word vērus (“true”). As a noun it means “Truth” and as an adverb (Latin) it means “Truly, really in truth.” This appears to be universally “true,” EXCEPT IN FINNISH AND RAPA NUI.)

Visit Poets United for some quality writing and community with other writers.

Here, Now, There is Peace

All is quiet here on this street.
The birds are coming and going
from the several birdfeeders
in the yard. They are not alarmed.
Their differences in feather
coloration do not cause discord.
They all take turns feeding and
bathing in the birdbath.

Our neighbors are on friendly terms.
I hear no loud shouts.
It’s an undisturbed Saturday afternoon.
I offer a friendly wave to our next-door
neighbor as I get into my car.
A group of children are playing ball
down the way…laughter carries on the wind.

The sky is composed.
It is blue but filled with
billowing clouds without
darkness or strife.

The trees stand untroubled
in silent repose harboring
multitude of species that
look to them for sanctuary.
They welcome all.

My granddaughters feel safe
and secure as they play
in their room. They know
they are loved and protected.
They feel at ease.

Our household is tranquil.
We live in harmony.
Stillness surrounds us.
Quietude permeates our life.

Here…now…there is peace.

Sharing this at Jamie Dede’s The Bezine’s Virtual 100TPC for Peace, Sustainability and Social Justice


Even though they had been
divorced for over 20 years
she harbored intense
resentment towards him.

She spoke of their relationship
as if they had parted ways
just last week.
She didn’t realize
that her hatred
was eating herself
inside out…by those seething ulcers.

Photo from Google Images

Join us at dVerse where Lillian gives us our prompt for today’s Quadrille.

Carpe Diem #1447 new tea (shincha)

shincha steeps slowly
gathered beyond the yak fields
dewdrops sparkling

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #34 Revise That Haiku … Kikaku’s Dragonfly

red dragonfly
break off its wings
sour cherry
By Kikaku


(my revision)

wingless dragonfly
leafing cherry quivering
hot-red sunset fades

The Apology

The small, fragile jewelry box
sewn in a delicate tapestry
fabric that was now
worn and frayed,
held only a
lone pair of dangled
earrings, three tiers of
pale, pink
crystals that now still
sparkled in the slice
of sunlight that had
crept across the room’s
planked flooring.
A story surrounded this
box and those earrings.
A love story, a gripping story,
a loss story and one
of struggle against the
flat, matte images of lives
entangled (and dangled)
in life and with each other.
Those earrings were an apology.

Join me at dVerse Poets Pub for Open Link Night Thursday at 3PM EST where I’ll be hosting.

Autumn Haiku

breeze scatters dead leaves
morning glory lifts her head
slight chill greets the day

Join me today as I host Open Link Night for dVerse Poets Pub.  We go live at 3PM EST.

Tapping Into The Source

Photo: Pinterest Free Domain


Yogi-posture, ramrod straight,
legs crossed in yin-yang shape.
Hands held gently at rest on the knees,
while fingers posed in mudras
help to focus energies.
Eyes closed softly,
attention on the breath,
allowing it freely to tap into the Source.
Follow the breath,
it will show you the way,
the truth lies within you
beyond this illusory play.

Sharing this poem that I wrote shortly after beginning my blog (it’s a repeat).  Join me as I host Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets.  The doors to the pub open at 3PM Thursday.  Share any ONE poem of your choosing.


Rock Springs

Rock Springs, Apopka, FL; image from Pinterest

spring of my youth
where rocks stay
lodged for endless ages
and I rushed around
them in my haste to
run, jump, hurdle
myself into the
flesh-freezing waters
that refreshed my
body with soul-baring
joy to revisit there

the horizon was brought
up short by the thick
forested trees that
surrounded and kept
partially hidden that
crystal clear pool
that burbled endlessly
up from the depths
of a magical, carved
out cave of underwater
rock…it frightened me
to push my face
below the surface and
gaze down, down into
that deepness where
boulders had rolled
and shifted and created
the perfect home for
that purity to come forth

charming though were
the shallow paths
of water mostly ankle
deep that meandered
through the woods
then to stop and excavate
miniature springs and
extract treasures of tiny
shells and sharks’ teeth
from countless eons ago

darkness descends on this
sweet paradise and the
shouts and laughter
of children fall silent
as the wood-burning grill’s
embers slowly weaken and
the colors echo the sunset

Please join me Thursday at 3PM as I host Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. Choose any one of your poems to share.

Life Force

We are vibration.
Our lives are a continuous
series of sparks that ignite
our life force and maintain
our beating hearts and breath.
Do we arrive with a finite number
of inhalations and exhalations
that we fulfill before we flicker
out into complete nothingness?

Join us at dVerse Poets as we celebrate our 6th year anniversary and our Quadrille prompt given by Grace.

I Wish You Well

My heart stirs with compassion
as I watch the old woman carrying
her packages down the sidewalk.
Most likely many years past the
ability to drive but I surmise that
she still must use her unsteady
legs to make her way to retrieve
food and the other necessities
of sustenance. Has she no one
who can or will assist her? I think
of my own mother who is now
surrounded by family members
and others who pitch in to aid
her in all of her daily needs.
I marvel at the strength it takes
of an elderly woman (who I
judge should be relaxing and
cared for in her later years) to
trek out into the world and fend
for herself. Of course these are
all assumptions I’m making but
still I send blessings that she
be well, that she feel loved,
may she feel content, and may
all of the universe support her
soul on its singular journey.
For some reason tears appear.

Join us for Poetics hosted by Paul Dear Tuesday 3PM EST at dVerse Poets Pub where he presents Blessing poems.


She wants a green funeral
laid to rest at the roots
of her Christian upbringing
where monks roam
the Monastery of the Holy Spirit
and peace has inherited these acres.

A plain pine box will
encase her remains and
simply, shallowly placed
beneath the oaks, where
their leaves have quietly
drifted and come to rest.

Her spirit will be set
free as it lifts from her
form effortlessly, casting
off the shell that no longer
is of use. Once more her
essence will be unbound
by earthly attachments
and joy and wholeness
will be hers.

Unfettered she merges with
her God Source and the
love that surrounds her
permeates her soul.
Any pain or discomfort
is no more. She is in a state
of endless, divine worship.
All is Good and we will
rejoice in her freedom
while at the same time
mourning the loss of our
Dearly Beloved Sister.

I wrote this after speaking with the sister of my childhood friend, Patsy, and learning that her time with us was very limited.  She passed away on April 15, 2017 after living seven years with cancer.  Before their mother passed away, the three of them would visit this beautiful monastery in Conyers, GA and enjoy the peaceful grounds.  They offer “green” burials and Patsy decided that she wanted to be laid to rest on the acreage that is set aside for this purpose.  You can read about the monastery here.

Join me as I host Open Link Night at dVerse Poets where the pub doors will open Thursday, 3PM EST.


She applied pale and
colors in her paintings.
Sometimes they were
almost imperceptible,
and just shadows or echoes
of her subject. It had both
a ghostly and melancholy
effect. Her artistry spoke
in hints and shades of
times that have now been lost.

Join us at dVerse as De presents Quadrille Monday.  Come have some fun with one of our most popular forms.

Duck and Cover!


Photo: Google Images; Duck and Cover drills in the 50s

I grew up in the 50s and 60s and during the Cold War between Russia and the United States school children were taught the “duck and cover” method to save our lives in case of nuclear bombing during school hours. Huh?  I vividly remember these drills that would come randomly during the school year in addition to our fire drills.

When the alarm sounded we were instructed to quickly and quietly (always quietly) to get in a huddle down on our knees underneath our desks with our heads protectively covered by our arms. I’m sure I wasn’t aware specifically of the reason for these drills at my young age but the energy surrounding the drill left me fearful and shaken.  Sometimes the exercise had us lined up and following our teachers out to the parking lot where waiting volunteer parents lent their cars as getaway vehicles to whisk us away off campus.

Not only would these drills be useless in protecting anyone during a nuclear blast but they added fear to an already too fearful child. We also had the Cuban Missile Crisis in the 60s…I lived in very close proximity to Cuba, and the Vietnam War was on television during the evening news.  It’s no wonder that I was well acquainted with anxiety as a child.

fire whips hysteria
crackling, consuming calm
frightened doe huddles

Join us today at 3PM EST as Toni presents Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

Mundane Morning

We heard a loud shooshing
sound from our second floor
apartment. We ran to the
back sliding glass door just
in time to see a hot air balloon
just barely skimming the roof!
Wasn’t expecting to see that on
this no-longer, uneventful
mundane morning.

Join us at dVerse Poets Pub as De presents our Monday Quadrille prompt.  The pub opens at 3PM Monday EST.

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