By |

his clever maneuverings

how he tilts his little puppy head

the many ways he scams us

out of treats throughout the day

those soulful eyes

his belly-rub entreaties

the playful growls and groans,

notes of pleasure

telling us we are loved

By |

I fear too many fail to understand

what’s come before us

how morning breaks its yolk of promise

in a world whose inhabitants

either flock to the light

or shy away from its brilliance

By |

when the only thing to rile the crowd

was a president in a tan suit

or a dead mouse in a can of soup,

the price of stamps

hiked up another two cents.

*

every day now —

EVERY DAY! —

there’s a new disgrace,

a new outrage,

another reason to doubt

we’re still living

in the greatest country on earth.

*

i’m so tired of it, aren’t you?

By |

bluest of skies

wispy planes of cloud

Canada geese circle overhead,

seeking soft spots to land

*

as I watch them in flight,

Morning Joe reports

on the ICE-ugliness in Minneapolis

and elsewhere in the country

*

the contrast could not be more stark

one, a calming natural phenomenon

the other, a danger to our very being

By |

necklaces, earrings & bracelets —

a snarled, tangled mess

of baubles & beads.

*

a few broken chains,

missing pieces,

gems with a tarnished

*

or lackluster finish —

still, I’m thrilled

for every salvaged bit of it.

*

sorting through what remains,

I’ll wear her close to me,

a cherished means of remembrance.