First Drafts

First drafts a dawning day. Night, doom to a soul determined. Death a weary friend.



I surrender
go in devoted hope
your heart to drift,
a plate properly set
should the open air
cause weariness.

I cannot promise
good returned to you
remember the lessons
the way I lived,
the sun shines despite
the clouds dressing in black.

I plead you
listen to the bluebird
temper your pride,
grass only grows
in acceptable weather
being still, until brighter days.

I urge, make do
your blessings abundant
whether richer or poorer
your spirit fulfilled,
go now, your wings prepared
the journey awaits your destiny.


Evening song

Born to love and dying to be loved forever.

She gave her soul
to please her man
blinded by the light
of darkness.

Under a starless sky
their hearts pray burn radiant,
thoughts, vapors
no longer held too tight.

Her words a dance on paper
her poem addressed to him.
Times of calm
portrays their mundane lives.
Born to love and dying to be loved forever.

She understood fate
burdened by sorrow
hearts padlocked
thoughts chained.

Two souls in need of sutures
no two edits alike
words sharpen words
undressed bodies,curtained eyes.

Grief mishandled
impossible apologies,
tracking the sun
as if light were the remedy.
Born to love and dying to be loved forever.

Walking elegance
his blind virtue
two hearts concealed
approaching the horizon.

The moon glimmers upon the waters
their hope resides
bare feet touching the shoreline
promises for the other.

Paddle to the moonlight
dance upon the waves
tide is out to welcome
sailing towards forever after.


The flowers we preserve never last
waves to mock our hearts
free to flow, to and fro
moon on high to make us quiver.

Born to love and dying to be loved forever.



earthen days
shattering occurrences
life bursts forth
fizzles to day-to-day survival
few fantastical hours between
fireworks and the beauty fizzles
memories wane
cut away the rotten
clichéd ties to their birthed names.

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Space between our existence

I venture to say I sense healing has come my way as I bask in the sun. I discovered a park on my way home from excursions, a hidden gem in Fishers IN, USA. I hear the highway, a steady hum, the car wheels keep on turning. I choose to be still for these autumn moments. A chance to release toxic feelings. 

It is I, the squirrels and dreamy birds, soaring to melodies. I imagine they pray for me. Reaching altitudes high enough, with keen vision, they notice the tears below their wings. I echo their song.

The sky is blue, choo-choo, choo-choo

I shall sing and dance, remember you!!

As I walk, I peer down, leisurely snatch a few red-orange maple leaves to press. It has been a while since I bothered to capture positive memories, still lifes. A park bench welcomes me to sit awhile. I accept, ponder and feel anxiousness creep inside. From where do these thoughts appear? Ghostly existence deep within my heart, beating faster as if I run. The acorns bombing my position. 

No time to waste, the cardinal resumes a song, his red feathers sensing winter soon appears. 

Leaves twirling mid-air, a dance of farewell. 

A bow and curtsy, we bid each other peace. 


My promise garden

Eight years my garden stood still, from grief i retreated. It slowly comes alive. The last of the migrating monarchs are passing by, fueling for their rigorous journey. I dare say they never give up. They maneuver obstacles but never give in, unless life is taken away. Great lessons to learn. My heartaches when i consider the lilies of the field and birds of the air, i miss dear ones. I started my promise garden long ago, in memory of my grandfather, his love of the land. Generations of family learned to grow tobacco, a Native American passed down tradition. Our family housed Black Hawk, the night before his massacre. Legends in our family, of late, has been tragedy. Two suicides; grandfather and brother.

I push on in tears and pain and trembling. Never again. I will not put more sorrow into the air. We all need to breathe. Be well, J

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Lessons hard learned
hardly for naught
wading evens the score.

Release, better still
another day
to swim upstream.

Where to, the salmon paddles?
scenery to inhale
gallant thoughts exhaled.

Casting arc, the fly line
surrender another, a fingerling
silent conversation, fish and me.


Brother, never far.
Nearer still, though he be gone.
His fly-fishing gift.

Double surgeon’s knot
twists our families together
pieced in a quilt top.

Husband, always near.
Closer still, though he is far.
Our quilted, pierced hearts.


Devil’s advocate

we never know
what lies beneath the hair of a complainer
pettiness covers a life of misery
choose to ignore the pain
bother with the folly,
to toast or not to toast,
this, the fool’s question.

I am, in no way, making an excuse for your unbecoming behavior. Some day we must face ourselves.

I grieve the love lost, dad,
years blanketed by childhood games
you worked night and day
your mind never in a place to be found.
now, I stand before you,
you lost in another world of meds
with no way back from here.

how much
can break us
tear us apart?
how much is too much?
one more death
one more crack-up
one more night to fight.

you told me once you loved me
you shook in fright and tears
I yelled at you for stupidity.
he knew and I knew and the world knew
he was a dad lost in work
day and night took him away from me
with no way back from here.

My nature is to see the best in everyone, if for no one but myself. Some people take more effort than others. I am effortless.

would you choose
to live life differently
if given a chance to live life again?
to toast or not to toast,
no easy question for you dad.
I will not wait on the curbside,
watch the wheels roll on past.

“l’chaim” (to life)