In my mind I walked the shore
It changed as did my mood
Cold sands seemed compacted
A surface that would hold an elephant

Tiny grains to shift as I
Pebbles as thrown by the sea
Jagged rocks with harsh surfaces
Just a beach that found the world as I did

There the sea came rushing to me
A raging storm smashing all it touched
To swirling eddies we feared so much
Then shifting tides ebbing and flowing.

“I’ll always take what you say, with a pinch of salt”
This, She said to me without a touch of the iron
Required to wrinkle out the truth, which belies a Mother’s belief
At twenty thousand miles of distance and grief

Only time that drains her voice of tune once held
At the other end, can be felt, that strength
Which once admonished so stoutly, now
Furrows a condescending prow, two oceans distance

I used to have a Galaxy 3,
but now I wanna be up-to-date
I'll give the old one just for free,
and buy the latest, that's Note 8.

I'll always slip it in my pocket
and sleep with it every night.
My dreams come true when the net
is faster with a 4G byte.

You know how much cell-phones are dear,
for they would keep us all in touch,
so I'll never have the fear,
of losing friends that mean so much.

sleepy
blue heron
on Green Lake

feathers
trembling stems
dull winter wind

clearing
their throats
crows bark like dogs

A gentle breeze,
kiss of leaves,
each branch of the tree,
has it's minuet,
in forest tapestry.

Poplar, pollen, in drapery,
hanging moss,
lichen, so tirelessly.
Bush, tree, weave,
changing forest tapestry.

Raging brook, over flow,
nature changing, texture show.
Rock and stone, carelessly strewn.
Creating a home,
in forest tapestry.

The plane
ascends,
its shadow
- smaller 
and smaller -
finally melts.

My smile 
grows larger
than my body.

The road curls
between snow banks.

Cars are beads of sweat
on the mountain's chest.

Sun dives
through opaque
clouds and smirks.

Shoulders
weighted down --
wet snow on old firs.

I glide,
slide and drop
dancing with birds.

Sudden,
quiet tumble,
heels over head.

Still waters
were soaking
my paper boats

I jumped
out of their
sinking feelings

Quickly
turning them
into balloons

Late winter rain taps on the tin
of the roof of my small home
asking, perhaps, to be let in.
It's tapping echoes in my dome.

The echoes shake loose memories
from cob webs undisturbed for years
which drift like milk weed on a breeze
and unseize memory's stiff gears.

Young days when hills were not so steep,
jack frost crunching beneath boots
during the cold of winter's deep
while far away a barred owl hoots.

I will write of the gems I have held
Some in my mind others in my heart
Yet they are held with a love so pure
A thought that will fill eternity’s hold

There is a band of poets striving away
They are from all places with all thoughts
Here they play with words in tidy rows
Though we must take each word carefully

When you speak of their words, talk with calm
Be gentle with their lives as they burden you
Think of all they have been through or why
They come to us each day poetry to unfold

Back stage
she readies
for a catwalk

Steps out
and dazzles
a crescent smile

Baring
her radiance
with every stride