Poem: Year of Grief and Fear

I’m going to be a real downer with entry #20 for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I came across a snippet of journal writing I did in late 2016, which was a terrible year for many of us on a large scale, but also one of the most difficult years I’ve ever experienced in my personal life. Anyway, I adapted it into a poem.

Year of Grief and Foreboding

My heart has become 
a heavy-footed drunk
pounding the walls
disturbing my rest
railing against loss
upon loss.
Even when it wants to dance
it can’t find the beat
staggering with
uneven steps
raggedly rhythmless.


Haiku: Callery Pear

Photo by Alix Lee on Pexels.com

Day 19 of the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

I work a clopen shift at work Tuesday-Wednesday. So I’m always exhausted by the time I get off work on Wednesday. Today, I also spent half an hour moving dirt after work. All of this to say, it’s a haiku kind of day.

Callery pear, lace
covered beauty entices,
odor repulses


Poem: Marbled Orb Weaver

Entry 18 of 30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

I have written about marbled orb weavers before on my blog, but this time I turned it into a poem.

Marbled Orb Weaver

Such a lovely day
even this bashful
leaf dweller couldn’t 
hold out against the yearning
to embark from the shadowy
security of its home
by the creek
and explore the delights
of the afternoon
carrying the sun on its back


Poem: Luxury Resort

Fancy resort lobby with stone walls.

Today’s entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon is an ekphrastic poem. I followed the email prompt this time, which explains ‘”Ekphrasis” means “description” in Greek, and it has become the name of a kind of poem that describes a work of art.’ The email included a link to a site for random images and I used the first one. The image is a jumping off point for me. My poem is not meant to be an exact description.


Luxury Resort

Someone quarried the stone 
for the rustic walls.
Someone felled the trees
for the finely crafted
furniture carved by human hands.
The rugs were woven on a loom.
By whom?
The lovely potted plants did not
bring themselves to the setting.
Presumedly someone does the watering.
Authors and artists devoted
hours (months? years?) to the
creation of the coffee table books
that someone selected and someone packed
and someone delivered. 
How many workers labored 
to lay the granite floor?
Someone scaled ladders to hang the 
mood lighting, placing it just so.
Someone cleans it all
day after day after day.
Every 12 seconds someone remembers
that we’re all in this together.
So says the sign someone
hung near the entrance.


With Apologies to William Carlos Williams

Halfway there! Day 15 of the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I was short on sleep last night and had to work all day. With little time or energy, all I came up with was this little light-hearted scrap about part of my day.

Apologies to William Carlos Williams and his red wheelbarrow.

Creating a Library Display

so much depends 

a green paper 

with a sharp 

beside the paper


Poem: Luna Enough Alone

Photo by SevenStorm JUHASZIMRUS on Pexels.com

Here’s my 14th entry in the 30-day Poem-a-Thon for City of Refuge. I have the moon on my mind.


Luna Enough Alone

Don’t mine the moon, that’s my advice
Not that anyone asked
Turn right around from that intention
I would say to anyone who listened
Is not the brightness in the dark
Enough for us or must we raid 
Luna for every resource
Is not the astonishing push
And pull on our tides help
Enough for our needs, enabling
Life on Earth and all, its lambent
Presence inspiring art and love
Can’t we allow ourselves
To leave wondrous enough alone


Poem: Last Piano Lesson

Photo by Ludwig Kwan on Pexels.com

Day 11 of the the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

Last Piano Lesson

Once he was going to be a concert
pianist, his fingers
shaping his whole future
composing and performing to wide
acclaim, the dreams of a 12-year-old
plus his mother and the
teacher who discovered
and showed him his best musical self.

Three years on a decade of lessons
ended on the same bench
where his feet once dangled.
He had grown into a visionary
aware of many possible bright
futures with the boldness
to explore new dreams and
the youthful wisdom of letting go.


Poem: The Window By My Bed

I almost forgot to write something today for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon, but managed to get something knocked out after all.

The Window By My Bed

I was often sleepless even
as a child and watched the night
unfold outside the window by
my bed, knew which neighbors
came home late and stumbling,
which other windows of other houses
would have a light on at midnight,
became familiar with the erratic
shadow theater of moths and bats
playing out around the streetlight
on the corner, the same one where
the big boy from a few doors down
would stop many nights to extinguish 
a tiny red glow, flicking it 
away into the dark, before 
exiting my field of vision 
himself, leaving a faint glimmer
of mystery lingering on.