Writing from the heart, I’m inspired by everyday experiences. My poems, haiku and non-fiction come from a slice of my life. ❤️POMpoet❤️

Poetry

To Ease My Mind

Photo by Rota Alternativa on Unsplash

I’ve come to this place
to ease my mind

to smile at the chatter of birds
to feel a tender breeze
and listen to the silence
of tall trees

it’s as if this place
is here just for me

to soothe my spirit
ease my mind
and free my thoughts

but today I struggle to
find comfort here

worry fills my head
a jumble of concern
and cluttered words

as I sit disheartened
the warmth of the sun
peeks through the treetops
and in the far off distance
I hear a train whistle

now watching leaves flutter
and squirrels chasing
from tree to tree
my shoulders loosen
and my head…


A Christmas Gift

Photo by Amanda Frank on Unsplash

walking out into
the gusting wind
sharp snow crystals
bite and sting my face

with my hood up
and gloves pulled snug
I dip my head
to start the journey

deep in the woods
I find the Noble fir standing tall
as it was last year
and the year before that

reaching into my pocket
I retrieve a small bundle
and unwrap it with care

though my parka is bulky
I stretch up as far as I can
suspending the gift
from a sturdy branch

closing my eyes
I recite the blessing

“thank you for bringing beauty
to the forest
and thank you for providing
nourishment and shelter
to the creatures who live…


Short Story

How Ironic

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

I write, which is ironic. It’s ironic because I hate writing. I hate handwriting and I hate printing, too. For me, it’s an exercise in futility. When I try to write my ideas on paper, they are lost before I can get most of them down.
Poof, gone. And what I do write down is virtually illegible.

In elementary school, my grade in handwriting was “N” for “needs improvement.”

Nothing has changed.

On the other hand, with my fingers on a keyboard, I’m gold. Not that what I write is gold but there’s a direct link between my brain and the page (or the screen, if you will) and the words flow.
The last time my typing speed was measured I clocked a swift 90 wpm. …


Poetry

A Poem in Three Parts

Image by kerry2 from Pixabay

Part I
she marched
band practice
in the heat of the day
keeping time with
whistled instructions

she marched
on cool winter nights
under the half-time lights
the band’s intricate formations
bringing cheers from the crowd

she marched
filing off the field
taking her bleacher seat
then waited as the flask
was passed around

the warmth of alcohol
creating its own steady beat


Poetry

She Turned Toward Home

Photo by Nico Smit on Unsplash

she called out across the canyon

“helloooooo…is anybody there?”

but instead of ricocheting back
her greeting had fallen
straight down to the canyon floor
the words drowned
by a fierce rushing stream

unaware, she waited
listening for the echoed reply

the desire to leave was strong
but the urge to stay
held her captive

resignation and hope

two emotions fighting
to gain the upper hand

realizing that her words
along with hope
had been washed away
she stepped back from the edge
and turned toward home

undefeated

Thanks for J.D. Harms and Scrittura for prompt “desire and gravity, which asks for you to consider a situation where what you wanted and what you wanted were in conflict.” …


POETRY

Grandma Sad

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

I’m sad
Grandma sad

the kind of sad
that starts in the
pit of my stomach
and moves up
constricting my throat
choking me

the kind of sad
that makes me gasp
and when I squeeze my eyes tight
the tears still escape
waterfalling down my cheeks

Sapphire Ray
I see you in pictures
your jet black hair
once straight
now is starting to curl

you are a Snow Queen
with your creamy skin
and eyes so very blue

when the pandemic
is under control
and travel is safe
I’ll be on the first plane

I’ll be on the first plane
to see the granddaughter
I haven’t held or touched
or shared laughter…


Nonfiction

A Story in 100 Words

Image by magdus from Pixabay

She made the tart using canned apples. Store bought. Even as she rolled out and carefully pinched a design into the crust, he complained that he had wanted a pastry like she used to make. Folded over, half-moon style.
He complained before it was baked, he complained after it was baked.

When he went to the other room, I whispered “Mom, flip it in half, flip it right over.” As expected, she didn’t. And he continued to grumble as he ate the dessert.

I still think she should have just flipped that pastry right in half. I would have.

Thanks to Galit Birk, PhD for inviting me to Being Known. This is my first piece written for them. I used their prompt “what comfort zone?” The challenge was to write something out of my comfort zone. I’ve never written a 100-word micro before, so that’s what I chose.

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