Ours As A Blessing 

DAY 16 of National Poetry Month 

A haiku about a boy who has my heart. 

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Everyone Becomes A Poet

DAY #14 National Poetry Month 

Inspired by Plato

I see poetry

in the wind and

hear our song

in the sky.

I taste it vibrating

on your tongue

and feel its home

in my heart.



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Honeysuckle Hips 

Poem #11 for National Poetry Month

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Be The Shine

Poem #10 for National Poetry Month.

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To Hold A Heart 

To hold a heart

to know it 

has been broken 

to cushion it and 

be a downy place 

for it to land 

to carry it within 

yours despite the 



to protect it from 

marauders and

cynics and the 

hauntings of former 


to aid in shredding 

sabotaging doubts 

so one can hear love 

sing again 



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The Lucky Seats

Sparkling eyes

ear to ear smile

dressed in the 

loudest colors

of joy

with spring flowers

in her hair.

“Are these 2 seats taken?”

“No sweetie! Come sit down!”

Right here! My name is Kay and 

I see the Virgin Mary every day! 

Every day sweetie! And Jesus too!

I pray the rosary every day 

and I see him!

Have you looked at the moon? 

Look at it! You can see the man. 

The eyes 

and the mouth 

and the smile. See? 

Do you see it sweetie? 

You should come to our house!

I throw the grandest parties! 

So many of them sweetie! 

You should come!

Let’s dance!”

Her husband mouthed that 

she has dementia and that 

my husband (sitting next to her) 

got the lucky seat.

But I danced with her 

and joy

all night. 

Her husband was 

only half right.



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Where Does Love Go When It Dies?

Where does love go when it dies
or does it ever really?

Energy can never be destroyed,
and certainly love is energy,
for it moves mountains,
empowers miracles,
defeats hate.
Perhaps love simply changes form
when touched by the greedy fingers of death or
exhaled in breaths of betrayal.
Maybe it evaporates through our cells
and finds itself part of a cumulonimbus cloud
reincarnated as a rainstorm of emotion
accompanied by thunderous lightning
the next time your soul meets another’s.
Or could it become the detritus
upon which future loves are nourished,
enabling our hearts to be
mitachondrial powerhouses
amped and ready to risk again?

Where does love go when it dies
or does it ever really?


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Intersecting Lives

The picture came first and the words second. Sometimes it’s the other way around. I may have been teaching geometry all week. 

#6 for National Poetry Month 

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Cool Sand Kisses 

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Hell In the Holiest of Lands

Poem #4 for National Poetry Month 

In response to the prompt “Hell in the Holy Land”

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