Three women work side by side
The first, dimpled cheeks dusted with freckles
Red hair streaked with gray, pours liquid
From one brown bottle to another while the second
Moves from behind mountains
Of paper tearing scraps with stubby fingers,
Sticks them onto shining curves then,
Wielding a black pen,
Slashes and stabs words,
Inking labels with identification:
Coltsfoot Cleavers Codnopsis Mullein;
The third dances between counters
Knee high combat boots daintily pirouette
Shuffle and twist over the tiled floor
While she flicks her wrists and rolls
Avocado and cucumber
Inside sheets
Of seaweed.
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Whenever I hold peas
In the palm of my hand
I marvel at the wizened orbs,
They feel ancient

My Grandfather told me this,
His brown eyes gleaming, he said,
“Peas are easy planting,
After turning over the soil
Push them in one by one
No more than one finger square deep
Two finger squares apart
And they’ll come up, you’ll see;
The best time for planting peas is winter
Soon as the ground can be worked,
Winter, it’s the best time for sowing peas.”
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Silver moonbeams spill to the floor
Through the open warp on the loom
The pattern as yet incomplete,
Watermelons and stars: a difficult undertaking.

By now you know
Never to eat watermelon seeds,
They grow into thick walls with vines
Creeping round, confining the heart.
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Peace Poet

I learned about this convergence of poetry, peace, and postcards organized by Carla Shafer yesterday and signed up to participate with my family.  Should you be interested, there’s a wee window open to fly through, join in, and infuse . . . peace.

“Every time people speak their hopes, address their losses and fears and listen to each other, we are taking a step toward peace.” ~ Carla Shafer
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Beauty Fields


In beauty fields

Wild horses run

While rabbits nibble weeds,

Then goblins come

With sacks piled high

And trample between steeds.


Stomp bellow snicker smirk

Goblins jostle through;

Then at the sight

Of Raven hunting

Black as night

They helter skelter scurry

Disappear without adieu.


For Raven does enjoy a feast

Of beady goblin eyes

He swoops and plucks

Then leaves them blind

Winging high

Toward clear skies.


Hark hither beauty fields

Where horses run by day

And rabbits under brambles pop

Blackberries dangling play,

Have thorns grown high that tangling ply

Dewdrops in the fields.