What wakes from the dark

A collaborative poem with the Oracle, a puente.


Something is born when we wake out of the dark

into the cold grey light,

a stream that runs to the ocean,

bright as we want to make it, they say,

those same warm voices full of smiles that warn,

Don’t look back into the fire nor stare into the swaying branches,

just let the red rhythms of the night

flow into the slow green and blue,


~even though the window is broken~


and the wind blows cold,

learn to see the lies that shine too bright to be true.

Lead will not turn to gold through yearning,

life streams flow rough; the banks are high,

and time flies on relentless wings

always north into the wilds, but look,

even there in the clear brilliance of frozen air,

the stars.

Grass grows


Grass grows higher than a faun’s eye

a hare’s eartips

a pheasant’s iridescent neck.

Between stalks of marguerite and fescue

salsify and bedstraw

the cycle turns

through rain and sun

and silent moonlight

slow and sure

as the sheltering curve

of a mother curled about her young.

Haiku challenge: Year & New part II

Couldn’t resist having another look at Ronovan’s prompt. Here is a trio for the collection.


Many years growing

the child unfolds, rose petals

each new day brings hope.


Each year the roses

their perfumed flowers unfold

a new joy each one.


New life rises—spring

dancing in the wind—year’s end

spear points pierce cold ground.