“norm” becomes “morn” when we scramble letters together, a new beginning coming each morning with morning owls and train whistles again, again, again, again, and again  “morn” becomes “mourn” when we let rhymes enter our lives, and we mourn small freedoms and inevitably massive, humble…

We are one note, he says. It began in the Alaskan tundra, strolling together under the midnight sun.   For our anniversaries, vacations, and weekends, we’ve hiked up to spectacular views, followed trails in the rain forest, backpacked in western mountain ranges, and explored Utah’s…

Summer. Time to prepare For liquid influx. The concept of weekends. No bearing on Anything. We curse the humid feeling of organizing limited time. We think of Fruit, and removing seeds. Tedium. The barbeque is cob-webby and has rusty parts. I don’t think the Steak…

The fallow must follow the fecundity  Grow  my darling  Verdant and riotous  Create  Vines of ink and harvest of words Tend  Insights in untidy rows Cultivate  Ideas round and sweet as melons Gather  The sun ripened seeds of dreams  Then  Turn the earth  Tuck yourself…

I love summer and summer loves me. As I Rest under a big tall shade tree with a nice cool drink to refresh my Soul. There are always summertime games of hide and go seek. You don’t have to worry about school until Fall takes…

6 seasons left untended Fallow heart Dormant The few tenacious tendrils Emerging from the soil Wild and untamed A testament to nature Rather than nurture

feet find gravel flaws soles would seriously singe this surface now stings    

  A secret Magic sitting on the surface of the world There for all Waiting for the few  The curious To notice To stop  To scoop it up To delight Allowing it to play along senses A kinetic painting on skin

A Cinquain poem is 5 lines with the following syllabic counts. The first line is the noun (title) 2 4 6 8 2 Oceans Tranquil water washes over my soul. Cleanses memories of you, I am free.  

Broken Wings With Earth not nearly enough to rescue me from this failing fate I think of my childhood dreams to soar but now feel as though with broken wings I tread   Broken wings are painful, you know painful like a dream deferred –painful,…