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Spyglass extends birds eye view

Deeper into the embankment

Where sand crabs scuttle over shells

Grown cold:

Mother sat on them

Once upon a time

Caressed them with her snout

Nuzzling those organic eggs

Until they cracked open

Sinewy reptiles crawled out

Looking to her

To spoon-feed them

Under the blue sky


Mother walks away

Her footprints embed the wet sand

She enters the warmth

Where waves caress

The pelagic creatures

Scrambling behind her

Before surf sprays away her prints

Giving cynosure to the crabs

Scuttling on cold sand

Where the shells are all that remain

Of the day:

Jewels dotting the embankment

Jewels washed away when the waves roll by.


Wordle words to explore here.




She hadn’t known roses held such juice

Hidden inside their folds,

Not until she saw the drip drip dripping

Red rose water seeping out

From the blossom sprouting

In the middle of the ration mans’ forehead.


She’d taken her place, a little girl

In the serpentine line,

Where waiting for rice, flour, sugar, and tea

To be measured in judicious quantity

She played hide and seek with the boy

Ahead of her.


They hide then seek each other

From behind the folds of their mothers’ cloaks

All the while moving a step closer

To a pat of butter, a bag of yogurt, a square of cheese

Weighted on scales by the ration man who calls,

“Forward march!”


Their play shakes the billowing cloaks’

Enveloping their mothers, a flash of leg revealed

Laughter and giggles become louder

Then a soldier raps her shoulder

Snaps short words at her mother who snaps at her,

“Quiet! Wipe that smile off your face! Be quick, be quick!”


Another booted soldier takes the boy and his mother aside,

They are swallowed by a cloud of black cloaks

Flapping like crows in a crowd

Bearing them away into the serpents coils,

And she marches forward

Toward the milk and eggs that wait.


Now the man ahead is talking,

His wife is expecting, can he get extra butter and milk

For her, for their growing baby?

He slips the ration man a rolled wad of paper

Receives the treasures gained

For his wife and their unborn child.


“No butter or milk for you today, there’s a shortage,”

The ration man informs her mother

Who takes her weighted portions

With lips clamped as if shut in a vise so tight

She wonders, “Will mothers’ lips ever part again?”

While skipping to keep up with the brisk steps in silence.



A soldier drags away a limp body,

It’s the ration man with open unseeing eyes

A red rose marking his forehead,

They vanish into the tightening bands of the serpent

A trail of red petals dripping behind them; splashing her shoes.


She’d thought roses grew in the park

The one with a new name;

To utter the old name was a swift way

To sprout roses from head and chest

Gaining quick entrance into

Another sort of garden.


The red petals stick to her shoes

All the way to a fresh land

Where as a refugee she learns

Rosewater is holy

Rosewater is clear

Tulips grow now in the park.



witnessing cycles
primal rhythms continue
of their own accord



Lying in a bed,

A bed of leaves

Crisply golden,

Biting into a crunchy

White fleshed apple,

An apple of acidic varietal origins unknown

Green skinned, mottled, slighty dry



Listening to the auburn rustle

Left behind

On branches,


Pointing heavenward,


Left by that wind witch who came through

Cackling at the trees

At the trees struck hard falling;

I heard them break down on rocks

Last night


They fell

Not from the woodsman’s axe

Nor hatchet

Cleft in bark

Yet down

Down they went

And she

She howled

Howled at the windowpanes

Looking in

To see

If there was a crack

To sneak in



This morning

A pair of bucks locked horns

Below the apple tree

While a doe watched

Tick tock

Time elapsed


She ran

Into the woods

With a backward glance

One quick peek from under long lashes framing her slanted windows

Then she was gone

Spurring the bucks onward

Until one claimed higher ground

Reared up on hind legs

Not a drop of blood marked the ground

Though the tumultuous battle raged

On then Crack!

Antlers break

Marking territory claimed

In a sinuous dance

Of courtship

Under auburn leaves blazing

Blazing against the blue sky

Where turtles

And even a few swans float

Slowly drifting then

A gentle breeze

And a shower of titian,

Russets mottled with green birthmarks

Tissue thin and veined,

Drops lightly

Veiling us where we lie

Our nostrils flare and we sneeze

Tickled by their edges.


A kingfisher flies overhead

Chrr chrrr chrr

Blue wings caught by the eye as he streaks

Then breaks land on the naked branch

Left behind by leaves that waited

For this instant

In which to fall

Opening a door that said


In bold letters

Carved from no

Unaccountable block of wood

Haunted with the essence of

A life once lived

Before being turned

By hands into some thing

This thing new and use full

The kingfisher flies away

Wings wide open it dips in lightly

Fish in beak

It goes

To warmer climes

Where spiny acanthus grows beside a dollhouse,

Tidy and sweet,

Proud spikes raised heavenward

It leans against an old door

Hinges rusty

A door set into a wall of stone

It once lived leafy green and waxy

Then glowed golden delicious

On a crisp auburn afternoon

Its bark marking it

At birth

White oak

White oak.


An exploration via the Wordle found here, for more poems and mind love . .



Oh happy tree whose branches hold

The heron where she tarries



Her curved neck, her beak and legs

Concealed by swaying



She bobs her back where feathers neatly tucked

Are pinned to her sides,

Bending in time with bouncing boughs.



Upon a breath of gladdening wind she opens her wings

And flies!


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