Where Does the Time Go? (A Poem)

Where does the time go?
Hither and fro.
Over and yonder
and far and away,
time is a child,
and the child loves to play.
September closes
while October waits,
and don’t we all have
plans to make?
So what comes next?
No one can say.
It belongs to us to
only bide the hours
and count the days.

The September Kind (A Poem)

Try to remember them:
The days of smoke, of rain,
of golden leaves and woodfire embers
and orange twilights.
The growing nights,
ignited by the tawny harvest moon,
as full and round with possibilities
as the coming season.
These are the September kind.
The hours and minutes and memories,
the time and the turning,
the living and dying
that belong to us,
when we feel older and younger at once.
We are all the children of the fall.

I Found the Fountain Pen! (or, A Decluttering Poem)

Long lost,
then found.
And found again.
You and I –
we keep coming back
to each other,
my old forgettable friend.

*I am currently in the middle of a weeks-long, house-wide decluttering spree, having decided I can no longer stand the state of my closets, drawers, cabinets, and other storage spaces. I don’t have regrets. BUT, this was a much better idea before I got started.*

Four Summer Haiku

Good morning sunshine
Mist and calm in the meadows
A new day begins


Cicadas singing
A soft breeze through the green leaves
The sounds of summer


S’mores by the fire
The soft glow lights our faces
We’re summer people


Moonlight and warm air
The stars shine white in the dark
A nightly blanket

My Mountain Home (A Poem)

Half of my heart is here with me,
the other half’s in the hills.
I’m not ashamed of where I’m from.
I carry them in me –
my mountains, my people,
those places and faces
and powerful memories.
See, you can take the girl out,
but she’ll come home
whenever that strong heart wills.

Summer Storms (A Poem)

They arrive
and darken the skies.
With a boom
and a crack,
like sprinters on a track,
they test their mettle for
the measure of a moment.
And in the end, they are
like victory – so very short,
nearly fleeting.
But never, ever sweet.

Holiday (A Poem)

Breathe it in –
saltwater and sea air –
and feel the sunshine
on your skin,
almost too warm.
Be
(just be)
without a care
for a moment,
a day,
a tiny fraction of
your total time.
Give yourself this –
this memory,
this place.
For now, right now,
the rest of the world
can wait.

Tell Me a Secret (A Poem)

A secret thing,
three little words
I need to hear
from you.
Maybe I’m selfish
to want them,
to feel like I have
something to lose.
So small, and fleeting,
those three words.
Out of your mouth and
into the ether they’ll go,
as if they never existed
at all.
But I’ll know.