Thursday, September 27, 2018

Details


Details

I take the time
to see the details
of the flower.
The way the petals
sit together.
How they curve
or stretch.
The length and
depth of each groove.
The closer I look,
the more the beauty
is magnified.

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Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Storytelling


Storytelling

What do you
want me to see?
Is it the
look in your eye
or your head
held high?
What about the
touch of blue
that peaks through?
Or, is the direction
you're going
what you are showing?
What do you
want me to see
so I can tell your story?

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Thursday, September 20, 2018

The Rhythm of the Wings


The Rhythm of the Wings

The butterfly sits
but flaps its wings.
down, up, down, up
I focus on the rhythm.
open, close Open? No,
just a pump fake.
Open? Now! close, open
Are you dancing in place?
I don't know, but I
could watch you all day.

####

I'll be at the Unplaza Art Fair this weekend, Sept. 22-23. If you stop by my booth, you might see a butterfly. Will its wings be open or closed?

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Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Bonds


Bonds

The color that
dazzled has faded.
The petals that
waved fell away.
The bloom has
been dry for
quite sometime,
but the butterfly
always stops by.


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Thursday, September 13, 2018

Dinner with Friends



Dinner with Friends

Let's go out to eat.
Our usual place? Sweet!
You decide what time to meet
and I'll save some seats.

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Tuesday, September 11, 2018

After You Have Grown


After You Have Grown

After you have grown,
you will go out on your own.
Use what you've been shown
as you face the unknown.

Until then, I will guide you
during triumphs and miscues.
Give you a point of view
that I hope will see you through.

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Thursday, September 6, 2018

The Game of Life


The Game of Life

We play with time
even though we
cannot see the clock.

Get up to watch the
sun rise or sleep
the morning away.

Work overtime
or come and go
on the dot.

Worry about everything
or enjoy
whatever we've got.

Fill each day
in our own way
until the clock runs out.

The prompt for this poem was game.

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Tuesday, September 4, 2018

The Bud


The Bud

The bud
waves in the wind
and says to onlookers,
"Wait until you see what I have
inside."

This poem is a cinquain, 22 syllables divided into five lines of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2. I really took to this form when I learned it in 8th grade so I decided to revisit it.


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