old brown vest


strong puritan oak

in modesty clings to garb

until spring leaves bud

sound of water


source: CDHK



kema-cho, japan

hear gently falling water

whispering to leaves


photo by lynn


















kemah, galveston

seagulls on boardwalk

soft waves lapping pier

blurb on da burbs

middle-class resides
somewhere in middle
‘tween everywhere/now(here)

dead doors safely
living close(d) to neighbors
on block
empty chairs fill porches

choice of school (lots) pay
to play
public schoolers should not
(not) pray
buses take young snotty
tots away

hard(est)-working to
absent dad hopes mom
knows best
all seem blessed, why sooo

Check out dVerse Poetics, where Oloriel invites us to submit “suburban poems”

sleeping with spring


Anyone can write a poem with magnetic poetry online…try it!


never born here

A poem for mothers who’ve miscarried and in memory of our first grandchild.



valentine mine

Artist: Sherry Evaschuk     Artwork Title: Hearts afire

two he(art)s ignite fire

heat waves of desire

old dreams be yearnin’

new memories burnin’

but just lust is lyre (liar)

trust stirs flames higher

real love colors bright

true blue lovers right

veins bleedin’ energy

he(art)s needin’ synergy

married love k(not) hot!

small pleasures


raku-yaki bowl

potter sipping poetry

enjoys tea in hands

welcome showers


the sound of rain smiles

pattering steady on roof

sleep rolls us over

grace crayoned skies


sunrise/sunset shine

beauty at day’s raw edges

colors soothing balm



farm photo – lynn

history tamed wild west


tailings of silver mine…

restored schoolhouse boasts

plank floor, rolled maps, stove.

main street brothels burned,

rusty bank safe deposited

in dry wash,  coal house and

water tank remember trains.

iron fence borders cemetery

atop boot hill,  rock piles

mark graves of ghost town.


Kim hosts quadrille#26 at dVerse Poets…write 44-words, including “ghost”.

ocean of space


Full moon is like white halibut, slipping through nets of fishermen trees.



Inspired by full moon and book, Crossing the Waters, by Leslie Leyland Fields, an Alaskan fisher(wo)man.

In the presence of angels


In the back bedroom of a hospitable home

on sprawling shaded lot in Magnolia, Texas,

lies an adult little girl; disabled but beloved,

dear daughter and sweet sister named Kim.


She’s a redhead, age 52, curled in bed, mute;

a child of God, reflecting his image; like Him,

her eyes always seeing (open even in sleep)

and her ears always hearing (primary sense).


What a privilege to meet Kim, touch her hand

as she rests in sanctuary of clean sheets and

sunny windows; surrounded by hum of vital

equipment, carried gently by sacrificial love.


Holy ministry happens here on a daily basis,

offered by her mother, who dedicates all her

nursing skills, the tenderest days of her life to

care for, love on, feed, turn, and talk to Kimmy.


Dedicated to Kim Feenstra, who lives with her precious family (and a condition called micro-encephalitis).

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