These small poems were written between January and July, 2018.
left out overnight in the rain
9 poetry books
my foolish neighbor
low-hanging branch
my umbrella tickles
the bellies of wet leaves
gentle rainwalk
under a wide-brimmed umbrella
my smile stays dry
morning walk without my watch
easy to stay in the
present moment
spring walk
new route
old smells
chalked on the sidewalk
“I LOVE YOU”
2 robins look pleased
cafe dewitt
a birthday candle
on my scone
morning walk
just for fun
counting crocuses (48)
supermarket check-out line
no lottery ticket for me
i already feel lucky
mother and i
blowing kisses into the phone
we don’t want to say good-bye
silly typo
mother corrects me
with an emoji
reading along
up pops “antimacassar”
remembering grandma’s old apartment
thinking of my grandmother
peeling an orange
why am i crying?
how precious you are
dear old chair
always here to welcome me home
life changes
empty hangers
in my closet
reading about
raspberries
i feel warmer already
not long ago
a black cat sat where i sit now
(we never knew each other)
snowy path
first i hear him
then i see him
woodpecker
morning walk
stone buddhas
bird buddhas
human buddhas
at the base of a sun-bronzed tree
a single robin’s egg
precarious future
(using some words from the Paint Chip Poetry Game)
don’t be an ice cap my friend
come in from the fog
to the hearth —
we’re all in this together
(using some words from the Paint Chip Poetry Game)
=====
Here are some more small poems, from last year, that never made it onto my blog:
dusk arrives
crows depart
the one remaining candle flickers —
on the other side of the window
a man scrapes snow and ice from his car —
other than that
the street is quiet
a vase of purple tulips
a room with a view
sister crow flies by
a full cupboard
mugs & bowls & small china plates
i choose the chipped cup
now it is easier
to just accept
forgetfulness
confession:
i envy other people's
pens
restless
moving from chair to couch
and back again
turning one lamp off
another lamp on
a bulb goes out
and before I can replace it
another bulb
in another room
goes out —
February
early morning walk
a new path
another Little Free Library
moving day
my neighbor transfers armloads of stuff
from here to there
crossing the bridge
a spider's web
my tangled thoughts
these purple and blue plastic hair clips
reason enough
to be happy
caught in a downpour
no umbrella
i don't mind
daydreaming
ooof
ankle-deep in a cold puddle
puddlesplash
all the barefoot children
summer solstice
notebooks from '93
i'm not even curious
recycling time
my neighbor's front porch
battered boots, muddy sneakers
3 chewed-up frisbees —
i never thought i'd say this but
i miss their growly old dog
snowy-day photos
in a small pile
on my desk —
carefully studying each one
refreshing on this hot summer day
quiet companion
following me down the street
white butterfly
a small blue vase
a single daisy
this morning after the rain
once i knew the lyrics
to dozens of songs . . .
now i chant
om shanti om shanti om shanti
om
