Hawk

  From angular fir to crooked spar, Her luminous tail feathers split the air, Unzipping it, Revealing the curving hill and thickening grass Until even I, Weighted down beneath a coat of care, Saw this morning’s lustre …and hers.  

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Not Ho Hum in SoHum

Our Farmers’ Market Sing hey for the harvest.  Sing hay for small towns. Let your pulse provide the beat and your neighbors the sounds. Flowers in the sun.  Vendors in the shade Women with aprons and pastries they’ve made. Fill your mouth at the market. Let your heart with joy thrum. Taste the juice of  the season And the soul

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To My Mother on Her Birthday: How Your Lilies Pulled Me Under

Spilling over the hillside Splashing against the asphalt Bright white foam dripping over leafy waves. Scores of lilies rush against the road. Tumbling in the wind, wet from rain, scooping up the sun, tossing light across the glass–dragging me, a reluctant swimmer, from my car into their sea. Drenching me Refreshing me Until revived I pull myself to shore. Behind

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Robin

Robin Surrounding myself with beauty, cushions me from some of life’s rougher moments.  When I was younger, I memorized poetry–a nickle a line (thank you, Mom).  Now, the words slip out of my mind like pearls from a box–rich and glowing–when life seems lifeless. One of my favorites is Emily Dickinson’s piece below the fold.  The poem doesn’t explicitly name

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The Nikon Naiad's Song:Saved from Drowning by my Camera

The Fog Also Rises Daily Photo The Nikon Naiad’s Song When morning light throws golden nets Across the splash of Humboldt fog Fishing for creatures of the night, They scatter — Slipping into caverns of shadow Till the sun sails off to lay its lures in other waters. –                   –                              – But I, like Neptune’s errant wife, Hair still streaming

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