Poem: Avonlea

Five monarchs flutter in a row--They’re grace on wings,And as they go,Time stops. Am I in Avonlea?Though Avonlea has never seenFive monarchs in a row! They make no sound to my own ear,Yet my heart makes outMusic here.Five monarchs make a chord of light.It will ring clear into the night.What dark have I to fear!

To Whom It May Concern

Let it be said of meThat my words wadedWhere the wavesDevour, Intent on saving youFor a new Day,For it was notYour Hour. I don’t believeI will meet you;I shall not KnowWho you are, Yet my words,Relentless, found you,Be it near or far. For those who found my work long aft I’ve faded like a flower, … Continue reading To Whom It May Concern


Let it be said of me,“She was open, like a book.”& like a book,Some people can’t get muchFurther than page 1.I am a poem-volumeAmidst documents of war;The thrill explorers felt asTheir schooners left the shore. One day I’ll be a Favorite BookRead ‘neath the setting sun.For now, I’ll stay true to myselfAnd whisper my page … Continue reading Prologue

Creativity in Quarantine

I would love to say that I am #StayingAtHome, but I found this situation more complicated—and emotionally loaded. When we first arrived in Peru, we were staying in a hotel. This was where we were when, halfway into our trip, a quarantine and curfew were set; all of the stores closed. Any place that we … Continue reading Creativity in Quarantine

Nine Ladies Dancing: Clinging to Youth

It’s frightening to grow up. Taking on responsibilities, leaving old habits behind, speaking of childhood in the past tense—it’s no wonder so many people take their time, whether or not they realize it. The world is a scary place, after all. I believe this message was the strongest theme for Nine Ladies Dancing, the fourth … Continue reading Nine Ladies Dancing: Clinging to Youth

Dwelling-Place of Storm

I am a poet, Keeper of flowers Dwelling-place of storm. My emotions Manifest in Terrifying form. I can destroy you With my words, Feeling no remorse, Or I can calm you, Fighting battles For you at the source. I’ve learned there is No middle ground: Believe me, I tried. I am a dwelling-place Of storm; … Continue reading Dwelling-Place of Storm

Hundred-Acre Grave

Yesterday, the blue and gray Skies rolling overhead, Sighing, seemed to me to say The rivers had turned red. Treading gentle on the grass, I sought peace but found none. April, she had come to pass, Her faithful weeping done. Musical, the ancient trees Groaned with the bluegray sky. Their duet, a mournful sound, Spoke … Continue reading Hundred-Acre Grave