Luna Love (A Poem)

I’ve heard it said
the moon’s a melancholy soul –
up there all alone,
with no light of its own
and only sometimes whole.
But I spend a lot of time with the moon,
waiting somewhere between
asleep and awake
while the world turns from night to day
and the sky changes with the seasons.
And I say this:
It’s something truly special
(and not for all of us)
to keep close the company of the stars,
to see through another’s radiance
and shine a path bright and clear
in the darkness.

Ghost Girl (A Poem)

I am only a flash
in the corner of your eye,
nothing but a shadow,
or a trick of the light
on the stair,
there and gone.
You can try to catch me
in a photo,
or to capture
the sound of my voice.
Many have, and most leave
disappointed.
Are you scared?
You should be,
you know.
I’m not for everyone.

October Fire (A Poem)

Strike a match
against the October sky
and watch it burn –
blood orange and
blue hot with the fire
of elders,
of ages.
It rages and then smolders.
And in its embers lay the sands
that turn the year
from day to night,
and soothe the world to sleep.

A Friday in the Fall

September is the month of gold –
the leaves,
the light,
the hours.
And there’s nothing quite like
a September night,
when the magic of
the harvest moon makes
lovers and poets of both
the young and the old.

I always feel a little melancholy seeing September come to an end. And yes, I know we’re not quite there yet. I’m thoroughly enjoying the slant of the light, the slightly cooler temperatures, the way the leaves have just started to turn… I love it all. And I just had to share this moment.

This is the sunset today, on the (small) mountain behind my house. I can’t get enough of it. And I know that soon enough, it will be dark at this time of day. But with the winter comes the stars, so I’m not complaining. I always have loved winter best. But for now, I’m soaking up this special September magic.

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.