I Learned What a Villanelle Is

I watch there while the water waves

water o’er which a seagull jives

There where the dinosaurs did bathe

the sea holds many sailors graves

cradled there an otter thrives

As I watch there while the water waves

the mighty sailing ships were brave

yet for their bones the osprey dives

There where the dinosaurs did bathe

it matters not, good men or knaves

the sea care little as she takes their lives

And I watch there while the water waves

becalmed and mad sometimes they’d rave

or yet made scrimshaw with their knives

There where the dinosaurs did bathe

for fish or treasure their all they gave

leaving behind their grieving wives

Still I watch there while the water waves

There where the dinosaurs did bathe



To see around the bend

I’ll follow every wind

In search of what comes next

Curiosity ever vexed

I’m going yondering

Gone to see the elephant

‘Cuz I wonder where it went

Sure it’s just over the hill

My feet cannot be still

I’ve gone yondering

A perfect place I know to be

O’er the mountains, beyond the sea

Just there across the river

I see paradise forever

I’m yondering again

Someday surely I will rest

Having found the place that’s best

Although I think that probably

For me he’ven’s in the journey

Forever yondering.




We had the first of the fall fogs today. It is early, being barely a week into August, but it has been hot (90ish) for days and today is reputed to be going to stay in the 70s so we have ground fog, hanging low in the creek bottom. It’s a thin fog, barely there, creeping up the hill and dissipating even as I watch in the early, almost-six-thirty-ish, morning, but it is fog all the same. Fog is a harbinger of autumn here, isolating and secluding, cutting my hilltop off from the world, concealing me from the eyes of humankind. However, the light of the sunrise is still the golden light of summer. I can see it on the land out there past the long hulking shadow of my hill. Crowing roosters seem to be chasing the misty, trailing remnants away excepting a thin scree over the strawberry field and a stubborn patch lingering in the roadbed of the side road that takes off from the very secondary road upon which I live.

My somewhat dark mood does not appear to be as easily dispelled. Being snatched from sleep by a ringing phone might have that effect all by itself, but in this case the information imparted was also rather dire. The doctors say my daughter’s ex-sister-in-law is going to lose her fight with breast cancer after an eight year battle which we all thought she’d won at one point. My daughter is very upset and not looking forward to telling her daughter. It is never pleasant to spread the pain around. In most instances an ex-sister-in-law might not engender such consternation, but in this case my daughter divorced the man while retaining the rest of the family. My granddaughter is very close to her “Aunt Debs”(pronounced like ‘dibs’, by a claimant) I am left to consider my mortality and that of all of us ensconced on this hunk of space rock. It is one thing to know that “no one gets out of here alive” and quite another when one is brought up short by the passage of one of their own.

If the doctors are correct Debbie will die in October, ironically national breast cancer month. I may yet accuse her of planning that, but not today. I charge every woman reading this to go and get their screening done this year. I would like to believe (as we all would at times like this) that some higher purpose will be served by her passage. So if you won’t do it for yourself or your family, please, do it for Aunt Debs.



Ocean Blues

ocean blues

Depression For the Doctor

Are you depressed?

The dr. asks

and I say yes

and he demands to know why I think so

his tone accusatory

his manner annoyed

insisting I provide proof

of my nebulous feelings of doom

what can I give him?

all of my shed tears, preserved in a bottle?

the lump that clogs my throat?

perhaps the waves of pain that make breathing a chore.

there is nothing for him to see

it is the sort of agony that doesn’t leave a mark.


The Spat

And in a moment, of greatest ferment

a scathing comment caused my torment

An unkind word that I’d foolishly heard

though spake by a nerd, makes me feel like a turd

My mind goes dormant, fleeing the element

of final discord, that falls as a sword

betrayed by a word all chance of concord

Rending the friendship into a mere blip

an untimely slip of relationship

Creating a hoard of dissonant chords

in the end I see, love that will not be

Apparently agreed, one of us is freed

our happiness seems to weigh much less

than the awkwardness caused by this mess

So, lonely I’ll be, lest love compromise me



A poetess

I long to be

as I sit

and sip my tea

and yet I fear

it shall not be

due to my lack

of clarity



The dampening moss

holding moisture

deadening sound

cushioning stones

blurring the sharp edges of breaks and cracks

guarding the modesty of oaks

so they are not naked in winter.

Eating moss

is said to keep reindeer from starving.

I wonder how it tastes?

green and dank and fuzzy?

Slippery when wet,

moss can cause ferns to grow on tree trunks

nourishing their roots

and holding them fast to the tree

The indians considered moss medicinal

it dresses wounds

pads splints

and can stanch the flow of blood.

I watch long strands

wafting in breezes

the trailing locks of a dryads hair-do

wispy and matted

Gentle moss,

it binds up my soul

and slick with heart’s blood

my cares slide away

peace grows

from roots tangled and trapped

and I rest

on the kindness of moss


I See The Sea

the breeze blows my hair back

and i feel no lack

i see the sea

the gulls cry

and i don’t care why

i see the sea

the sand is cold

yet i’m no longer old

i see the sea

the sky is gray

but there’s no gloom today

i see the sea

the waves roll in

not telling where they’ve been

i see the sea

and it sets me free


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