Four Poems Written Past My Bedtime

Hopscotch

Spring

April

Second wind

Nala, bouncing

Deer ate the tulips

Morning walk by the beach

Reading a book on the porch

Sunshine everywhere blinding me

Daffodils, brown thrasher, buttercups

Sturdy fawn looks at me through the window

Gentle stars, mild breeze brushes my cheek

Gardeners waking steadily

Interesting smells in the air

Big beautiful robin

Breathe the breath of life

Rocks, bricks, and sand

Rise again

Lovely

Joy 

Split Pea Soup

I made split pea soup

With the leftover ham broth.

It was too salty.

Blueberry Pancakes

Out of blueberries.

Ginger, cardamom, allspice--

Spice pancakes instead.

Painting the Beach

I painted the beach

Wrong, because it was from my

Imagination.

Three Thoughts

The Mirror at 64

Maybe God gave old people big ears

Because the world needs more listeners.

And, we're not in a big hurry, which also helps.

Maybe we have thick middles

For deeper, stronger, and softer hugs

That we love to give, because we can.

Maybe our wrinkly necks and spotty faces

Help us to be humble, approachable, nicer,

Because we have to. And we want to.

Skewed

I know how that bird feels

that slammed into the picture window

he didn't see.

I did the same thing once

at a party, broke my nose,

and have never been the same.

It was a sliding glass door.

I was there, but didn't know anybody.

It hurt so bad, but no one knew.

Local News

A bunch of rogue old ladies are growing their hair out. 

I thought I was being eccentric, but apparently not.

I see them everywhere, long gray locks flowing

over their shoulders and down their backs.

Shiny, fuzzy, silver, white, gathered, loose, curly, straight..

I'd like to collect the various reasons why, if there are any.

House to Myself

I have the house to myself, oh what luxury. I do love a house full, or even a bit of company, but for today it is indulgence. 

Kids

Kids are the messiest blessing,

the funnest trouble,

the sweetest pain.

Boys are brawlers.

Girls are strange and wonderful creatures.

Both are beautiful.

Their smooth freckled faces reflect the sunlight

soft-brightly, pulling a smile out of

serious grown-ups 

like expert fishermen,

without even trying.

 

The Beach

The beach is cold and stormy

in winter, powerful in a different way.

Strong and gray.

It matches my feelings

as friends get older and struggle

with problems relentless like waves.

These are exciting, though, and radiant--

amazing saints I get to to walk with, 

just by noticing them and following along.

Trees

Trees are a comfort,

like lights from a passing car at night

that track around the dark walls of my bedroom,

telling me I'm not alone.

Trees are a fortress,

a secret world under the evergreens,

where in my imagination 

I could live quietly on soft pine needles.

Trees are a home

for hiding squirrels and flapping birds.

Their scurrying and singing

perform much music of perfection.