Movin' On

One day, I was riding in a car going south on I-35. I saw a group of dogs walking by the railroad tracks. The thing that struck me was they weren't barking or chasing each other. They were just walking single file.

Movin' On

Six dogs walkin' by the track.
Looked like they were travelin' in a pack.
I wondered if they had gotten lost,
or if out of their homes they'd been tossed.
Lazily, they made their way.
Meandering on a sunny day.
Didn't seem to have a worry in the world.
Weren't bothered by any sounds they heard.
Six dogs walkin' by the track.
I noticed that they never looked back.

Reflections

Today is the 97th anniversary of the birth of Lillian Pond. Know as Lil, not Lily, she was kind, loving, never met a stranger and had a great sense of humor. She loved to tell stories, especially about her eight brothers and sisters. My sister and I called them "Fractured Fairy Tales", after a segment on Rocky and Bullwinkle. So, Mom, here's a piece of "fan mail from some flounder."

Reflections

You watched my reflection
in a shiny metal bread box.
Kept an eye on me
from another room
when I thought
you weren't watching.
Spoke to me
when I couldn't see you,
but you could see me.
You still do the same
when I look into my heart
and see your reflection.

Stormy Day

 It is literally a stormy day today so I thought I would post this poem about a figurative one.

Stormy Day

The front
moves in,
bringing
not a chill
but a
bleakness.
The clouds
gather
and darken.
Anguish
thunders
and the
downpour
begins.
Reality
sets in.
You are
gone.

Something in Their Eyes

Something in Their Eyes

There was something
in the eyes
of those who were
trying to rescue them.
They had already seen:
fire and smoke
ignited by heated rhetoric
and hatred;
loss,
although they had no idea
how much there would be;
debris
that would be
searched and searched
to try to provide certainty
to so many families;
the skyline,
forever changed by absence
but eventually to be renewed.
By the time they emerged
from the building,
there was something in
the world's eyes.

Blowout

With storms past, present and future in the news lately, I am posting a poem I wrote about Kartina. It is also one of the few poems in which I have drawn on my knowledge of sports.

Blowout

The presence of the Saints
was scattered throughout New Orleans.
Black and gold T-shirts, caps and jerseys
were a common sight.
Suddenly, the shirts were soaked with flood waters,
the caps were used to wave down rescuers
and the jerseys engulfed loved ones
and absorbed their tears.
This touchdown was not cheered but feared.
Numerous fumbles ensued
and the recovery is still a work in progress.

Windows

Poetry is about expressing the traditional in a new way. Here is my twist on an old adage.

Windows

Look into my windows.
What do you see?
Sometimes the windows
are bright and shiny,
allowing a clear view.
Sometimes they are tinted,
keeping you from looking in
while I look out.
Sometimes they are closed,
blocking the view completely.
Look into my windows.
Maybe one day,
I will let you
see my soul.

Camera Shy

I planted a garden in memory of my sister that is supposed to attract butterflies. I have had a couple of beautiful visitors in my yard. I seem to be very attentive to their appearance whenever I am outside.

Camera Shy

Shy butterfly,
won't you
sit for me?
Stop zigging
and zagging,
dipping but
not lighting.
No, your
air show
continues.
You refuse
capture, even
by a lens.