my uncertainty


has a solo feel

vulnerably real…

if i publish a book

will anyone look?

read my haiku and

sneeze, hah-choo!

it would be a gift

i think, to kids for

grandkids <wink>

or just for myself

to set on a shelf?

oh my, i sigh at the

cost, the expense

of time and money

task seems immense

my words must play

write on blog today



Talking to myself and linking to dVerse Poets where Frank suggests we write a soliloquy…

paint chip wishes

Linda offers paint chip poetry as a fun Friday prompt…click link to see colors 🙂


As rare as grace in The Scarlet Letter
or strong as faith size of mustard seed
as kleenex makes clown nose feel better
or dust bunny hides until it is freed
(would octopus lend a hand in need?)
I wish for luck when last frost is long over
surprised to find TWO four-leaf clover!




eb marries flo


waves write on the beach
gently rolling in…backing out
a steady rhythm in flowing harmony
receding foam reveals glistening treasures
of iridescent shell and wet seaweed
crab and sea star buffet for gulls
poetic scratches of driftwood

ideas hibernate in winter
fields lie fallow under drifting snow
soil and its creatures take rest
toads sleep deep under mud’s cover
birdsong stilled, winged to warmer climes
until spring melt when crocus buds
and world thinks green again

deliberate lunar phrases
wax bright and full of bold ideas
alchemy transforms night’s coal to silver
another month slowly passes while
queen of darkness softly wanes
new moon’s silence accentuates
diamond brilliance of stars!











Discuss chap. 11 of book On Being a Writer (Kroeker & Craig) at our writers’ tea about the balance of writing/rest.

at home with homeless


ask a homeless person
what is home to you?

ideally, it’s a safe place
comfortable and pleasant
my sanctuary from the world
where people love you…family

home is peace, not just a roof
maybe a tent on an ocean beach
even a sleeping bag under a bridge
anywhere you lay your head to rest

people look right past me
have you ever felt invisible?

after mom died, no family left
now depend on disability checks
you know how VA ignores veterans
no shelters for people with pets

self-medicating mental illness
spent rent money on crack
nobody will hire an ex-convict
hard when you lose everything

maybe we’re all homeless
looking for the key to security



Inspired by documentary, “Signs of Humanity” (2016) available on based on artist Willie Baronet’s coast to coast trip to collect (buy) signs from homeless people for his “We Are All Homeless” art exhibits.


Job answered, ” No doubt you are the people, and wisdom will die with you.”

(Job 12: 1 & 2)

a time to shine


As angels illuminated this holy night,
we light a wreath of candles flickering bright.

Winter moon in velvet sky sheds softer glow
and white lights twinkle on pine branches in snow

Carolers, who sing under lamp post’s glare,
will gather near fire’s hearth with stories to share.

Joyful tears in sinners’ eyes shine when we hear
that peace with God is possible, conscience clear

Each window reflects a star pointing the way,
let us celebrate the Light of the World today!



Image result for free images of advent candle

(I’ve updated this poem to recite for our church service of Lessons & Carols)


the baptist


by wind and camel’s hair caressed
a loud voice cries in wilderness
to homeless hearts

what did you come out to see?
crowded with expectancy
in restless desert

wonder how honey-dipped locusts taste?
wonder how to survive in this place?
ask shameless questions

watch and wait on wet line in sand
listen to ranting of wild man
young fearless prophet

the word calls hearers to repent
prepare the way by spirit sent
for helpless sinners

stand on brink of riverbank steep
wade out to where the water’s deep
hold breathless moment

messiah is here! raise your eyes
in holy sandals (yet untied)
steps our boundless hope




Linking to Laura Bloombury’s poetics on “less is more” at dVerse poets pub






suspended in time

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai’s tan renga challenge to add 2 lines to this classic haiku…


old pond
a frog jumps in
sound of water

© Basho (Tr. Chèvrefeuille)


hear ker-ploosh of Basho’s frog

… haiku kai ripples outward

© lynn__





a mother’s love

A memorial haibun on theme of gratitude for dVerse poets pub

I keep precious photos and letters. They were in love. Mommy, a happy socialite, married handsome Navy pilot. Small town girl found fun living in big city. We shared a Valentine birthday. She doted on me, her firstborn. Our bond was tight but unraveled when asthma flared with another pregnancy and took her life’s breath. I wore her lace wedding dress and ring.

I hold dear memories and momentos. We needed love. Mom, a quiet beauty, married indebted widower. Farm girl (from same small town) found work in big city. We shared Daddy’s heart. She accepted me as her first child. Nightmares and tantrums threatened to unravel us but she patiently parented until we grew into love’s tight bond. She gave me the best brother and education.

My heart swells with gratitude for each mother’s unique and vital influence on my life. I carry both of them in my heart and thank God for graciously gifting me (twice) with a mother’s love!


lone tree uprooted

memories of former days

wood warms us by fire

broken chords

she stares at him
elbows akimbo and
painfully pointed, as
white alabaster shall
shatter to tiny tinkling
shards of heartsong

he doesn’t notice,
yet if never, how it
feels to desire, aching
for words; arms bent
to work longer, those
urgent cows in kilts

piano sails fast clipper
lingers on guitar strum
dishwasher humming
wet wipers swish back
and forth; passengers
on dismal carousel ride


A free verse surrealistic poem for dVerse Poetics.

birth of a poem

Linking to dVerse poets pub for Amaya’s challenge to “labor”…


as the product of

conception, a poem

begins with flicker

of flirty idea

which sparks a

burning desire that,

with heart unprotected,

climaxes in passion for

words, that are strung

together like double

helix into phrases

which multiply and


connected by

rhythm and rhyme;

hid in warm darkness

until fully developed

and ready to be

edited, contracted,

squeezed through

narrow passage

’til finally, its

author, depleted

and relieved,

delivers another

helpless poem

into wide world

and, whether

birthed online

or hard copy,


or wailing,

it comes

hoping to be

caught gently

by readers.

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