Cultivated Carefully by Hand

What does it look like?

I don’t know what to look for!

They say I need it. To find it.

They had all kinds of suggestions

about where and how to find one.

But none of them said a word

about what it looked like.

It’s a seed, so I’m assuming

it’s quite small, tiny even.

Maybe curled inside a shell

of curved black parentheses?

Will I find a packet of them at the garden store?

All neatly labeled with planting instructions?

Or do they have to be collected in the wild,

cultivated carefully by hand?

I’ve been looking ever so long

for my seed of a poem.


Prompt: Wink

On doesn’t disturb a birdwatcher.

And from the corner of my desk, I hear

The particular sounds of a dedicated birdwatcher,

The chattering chirps come quietly, the body tucked and alert.


And you wouldn’t distract a starving child

From the only meal it’s had in awhile.

So intent on getting to the dish and eating it all

Before someone else could possibly take its food away.


You couldn’t think to wake a sleeping person

Whose been working hard all day

Keeping intruders at bay and keeping track

Of all that goes on in its own immense domain and estate.


I’m beginning to think perhaps

I should possibly dip in reverence

Next time I serve her majesty’s meal or snack

And, WINK, she sends me her love across the room

And I’m content at last.


Prompt: Shock

I’ve found just that right position.

The covers are up just so.

My pillow is at the perfect angle.

And I close my eyes and allow my mind to drift…


I let my breathing slow.

I feel my heart do so, too.

I let go of that last bit of tension.

My mind has stopped processing at warp speed…


My focus seems fuzzy.

Darkness is descending nicely.

And then there is the shock

Of nine pounds of black fur and purr pouncing…


I jolt and stiffen for a moment.

She circles once kneading my feet.

Into a black fur ball of warmth.

Once again darkness descends nicely on me…


Sounds on a Quiet Morning

Sounds on a Quiet Morning

4:00 a.m. “I need the car today, honey. Brian texted me.”

The cat still curled up between my feet

but wakeful, watching all.

Rustling of sheets and duvet as he tosses it all over to my side

Ahhh, hhuuuu, “14-15-16-17”, ahhh, prffft, “28-29-30” thud, hhuuu, “27-28-29-30” thud, ugghh, “7-8-9-10-11”hhuuh, thud, burp, “excuse me”, ahh, hhuuuh, thud, ahhh, hhuu, thud, ahhhh, “10-11-12-13” prfft, “excuse me”, hhuh, thud

Rustle, rustle, TUG and half the bed is made…maybe.

I feel the cat stir at my feet.

I hear the SNAP of elastic for his gym shorts and his struggle with his socks, then the slide of feet into sneaks,

and the cat is off the bed and bounding.

Thump, thump, thump down the hall and stairs to the kitchen.

It’s finally breakfast time.

Strides down the hall and thumps down each of the six stairs,

the squeal of the pantry door and rattle of cat food hitting a tin dish.

Crack, crack, crack as she eats like a starving animal who doesn’t know where her next meal will come from.

Thumps down six more stairs

click, and the woosh of the front door

as he’s off to the gym when it opens at 5.

And I doze in a quiet house.

The cat returns shortly and settles into a nest in the blankets near my feet after making her dainty way all the way from my shoulder down to my feet.

6 a.m. Back from the gym, the door wooshes closed,

and the inner door click, and each shoe

hits the stairs, all the way up, all 12

blowing and huffing, sweaty clothes

are pulled off and stuffed in the laundry bag.

Sneakers to the corner and strides down the hall

to the shower – we really need to fix that

squeaky faucet, I think once again,

as the curtain rings CLATTER across the rod.

From the other room comes the third snooze

and the sound of tags on the dog’s collar

clanking their metallic clink as she stretches

and shakes it out for the first time today.

Soft padding a few whispers before

the back door s-l-i-d-e-s and a little bark escapes

and is quickly hushed by a loud whisper

“Go do your business”, I’m sure…

THUNK, and the water ceases…pat, pat, pat…

Clatter, clunk, clatter, click and the dog is chowing down.

…rub, rub, rub and the towel slides on to the rod,

a tiny squeak and some splashing water…

Clunk, clatter, click, clatter and the ka-woosh of

the fridge says she’s got breakfast, too.

…and I hear toothpaste and bristles over teeth.

Then water and the CRUNCH and squeak-CLUNK

as the crushed cup hits its target and the lid closes.

Soft padding and metallic clinks,

A click and she and her dog are tucked away in her room again.

Strides along the hall and the s-l-i-d-i-n-g door

travels across its metal course and CLICK

the closet light shines forth –

on my side of the bed, of course.

But I’m prepared, a veteran of many

such mornings,

and I’m already rolled in my cocoon of blankets

the cat still at my feet

facing away from the cruel closet light.

Click, click, click, and the sliding of fabric on skin,

the clatter of his belt buckle nipped into place

and the twist-twist-twist of his tie.


and the closet door makes its way

across – the – metal – course.

Strides along the hall and a “Good morning, Girl”

to the dog, whose day has now started – free of the bedroom

Click, click, click of little claws

as she checks on all her people and places to be sure all’s secure.

Clatter, clatter, slurp, sip, clunk,

and his breakfast is done

with the morning news that he kindly shares with us all.

“Have a good day, dear, I love you” he calls

click, and the woosh of the door

and he’s gone for another day

Ca-lick, ca-lick, zip, zzip, clink, click,

“Bye, baby, I love you, love you Mom, bye, Zuzu, take care!”


click, and the woosh of the front door

and she’s gone for another day.

7:00 ahhh, a quiet morning, so nice to sleep in…beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep



lost to time

lost to time

as i turn the pages of the old

photo album,

my mind recalls the stories

the pictures bring to mind.

and in my mind they evoke the love

and happiness of simpler times,

of many voices,

of a full house.


but the house is empty now

and the voices are silent.

just the wind blows

passing between their stones.

even the names are worn.

and only the wind can recall

their stories of that time,

of those stories in my mind.


upon my soul


i drove by that place today,

and once again i felt him beckon.

i passed by and tried not to see.

i often feel his presence at my side.

i can feel his fingerprints

upon my soul.

i offered to help today,

and once again i wasn’t needed.

i know they don’t mean to hurt me

but it leaves me feeling useless.

i can feel his fingers

upon my soul.

i tried to be a part today

and once again i didn’t understand.

they try to explain it simply to me

but the fog thickens, his hand beckons,

i can feel his hands

upon my soul.