Geese by the Riverbank

Geese by the Riverbank

Where wild geese roam

ripples in the plum blossom river

cranes suck battle smoke

the bitter wind drifting

against the bow of the moon

until the light

until the fall

a stillness, by the riverbank.

Educational Hush

Twilight hush amidst the room;
a voice, rising through the shadow throng
commits the universe to notes
and I, swooning through the grace of logic, rise
drifted on the captivated stars
onto the mystic sea, glittering in
transcendental mysticism fires
that will not be bound by flesh:
a word, they say, a notion
but in that heaving sky
the rush of majesty;
souls which lie



Michigan at Sunset.

Moonlit October,

silver remnants in the fog, the misty air

wrinkled by the drip

of swelling rivers, drunken lakes

which feed the tears

a lone wolf cries from the river bed.

Coyotes yip nervous cooperation

about the scent we heave,

fear of the bear baring our skin.

As we lie in our tent,

we listen to the trickle,

wonder if this place could survive

a Wolverine.

The Nature of a Rose

Renoir's painting of cabbage roses, Roses in a...

Renoir’s painting of cabbage roses, Roses in a vase (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Rose is

made of blooming



through the pollen


red-hued fullness


on the giving


gone caress

breaths chased

into dew

braving the thorns

other showers

left behind

to crave

to drink

to slip


into thoughts


in a blush.

(Friends! Countryfolk! Hear my plea–if you enjoy what you read on this blog, I implore you to help me cast off some of my poetry into the great starry beyond. While that may sound strange, I’m a participant in the “Going to Mars with Maven” contest, in which winning haikus may get the honor of spaceward journey headed for Mars…care to help a dream come true? Than vote here:

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