freckled thing

Love is a freckled thing,
touched by sunlight
now and then.
Though pale at times
in places covered,
it shines a permanent reminder
of that which once graced our glad skin
and left a speckled wonderland.

to love an onion

to love an onion, cut it deep-
shed its layers, take a seat.
learn to live inside each loop,
keep your balance in a hula hoop.

if you went swimming in my circles,
peeled back my skin- pink, white, and purple,
would you like what you saw?
tell me, could you love me raw?

honey bees

when the poet wrote of honey bees,
they filled me with delight,
but when I saw one buzzing by,
it gave me quite a fright!

then I watched it gently land
upon the petal of a flower.
i waited in its presence-
let it touch my heart with wonder.

a bitter thing, the bee’s sharp sting,
but his labor the most sweet.
why shrink in fear from something dear,
its blessings swift forget?

knitting needle

If you were a knitting needle,
I’d like to be the yarn
knit snugly around you-
sprawling, spiraling out
in little loops
nothing could undo.

Let’s create something together.
Perhaps a scarf or sweater
to wrap around and warm
a wintering world.

If you were a prayer,
I’d like to be the hands folded-
quietly to hold it,
holy.
Then sprawling, spiraling out
to lift it up.

Let’s love something together,
something greater than each other-
then show it, stunning,
to a watching world.

lightning bugs (part two)

Because I’m on a lightning bug kick, and trying to use the form of a limerick...


When lightning bugs danced in the field,
The thunder bugs followed with zeal.
The rain bugs fell down
From the great cloud bug’s gown
Til the sun bug peeked out from his shield.

lightning bugs

Our lives are lightning bugs
flick'ring in eternity's sky.

Sparks that linger but a moment,
lifted from eternal light

Lord, catch me in your hands
and hold me gently til the end.

Your thoughts are higher than my own,
outnumb'ring grains of sand.

little owl

Oh, to see through the eyes of a child
the pictures music makes.
My fingers on the piano
are brushes gliding through paint.

Earthy brown,
sparkling silver and blue-
I feel the pale shine
of a faraway moon.

Then, pressing the pedal
down with my foot,
I add drops of water
to the paint.

Colors soften into
the shape of a tune-
the watercolor cry
of an owl in June.